Maximum Pulse
by sanyu-kumiko
Summary: 1x2x1; 4x3; 5xMeiran; 6x(?) [Written by Switchblade003 in collaboration with Sanyu-Kumiko]
1. Maximum Pulse Chapter One

_Disclaimer: Shin Kidousenki New Mobile War Chronicle Gundam Wing and all  
affiliated characters are property of Bandai, Setsu Agency._

**Title: Maximum Pulse  
**Authors: _Switchblade003 Sanyu-Kumiko (Collaboration)_  
Chapter 1: Order Up No.1 Egg Roll, Fried Rice  
Pairing: TBA  
Warning: Violence, Language, Religious Themes  
Rating: R  
Archive: AFF, Gravity Zero  
Status: Incomplete, but active.

* * *

**Sanyu Says**: Maximum Pulse is a collaborative work between Sanyu-kun and Switchblade003. Switchblade003 wrote it, and I simply played muse, "rationalized", aided in plot making and whipped Switchy occasionally to FORCE the updates.

**Summary**: Yaoi AU Gundam Wing fic. Hot boys on crotch rockets! Heero finds that he can't keep away from racing his bike. Drama will ensue. Duo (_the cute, baka mechanic_) becomes Heero's best friend, and Trowa their rival and/or nemisis. Oh, what will happen when Police Officer Zechs shows up? READ READ READ.

* * *

_To say the place was cliche would have been an understatement_.

Hiirou glanced around at the oriental dragons glaring at him from tackey pastel wallpaper and the low, chipped black lacquer furniture that might have been older than some of his college professors, and he gave a mental sigh. He supposed that the setting didn't really matter so long as the food was up to par, and he tried to convince himself of that as he sulked inside, all the while ignoring the tone-deaf squaking of what he guessed was chinese pop music.

The place was deserted and that couldn't have been a good thing.

Shuffling past an oddly-placed booth, the Japanese youth made his way towards the main counter. He peered over suspiciously, squinting past the antiquated cash register, a set of beaded doorway curtains, and a thick layer of steam into the kitchen.

"Hello?"

A clatter of pots and pans was Hiirou's response, followed shortly by a shout. "One second, buddy..." There was a low muttering in a foreign language, and the situation was almost comical as a young man shoved his way through the curtains, raking a hand through his hair. "What can I get for you?"

Definately Chinese. Hiirou smirked at the accent-laced voice and the irritated tone. "I need food," he chuckled,"but you seem a little preoccupied."

The owner-he assumed- rolled his eyes, practically seething. "Look, guy; my delivery boy called out for the seventh time in as many days, we just fired our last cook and I have to pick up my kids from school in..." The frustrated youth-because he couldn't have been much older than Hiirou himself- glanced at his watch and groaned. "ten minutes ago. So if you need something, make it quick. Your stomach is of no consequence to me."

Hiirou arched an eyebrow, clasping his hands on the counter thoughtfully. "I've got a better idea. Why don't you give me that apron and I'll cover you while you get your kids."

The Chinese youth looked momentarily stunned, blinking owlishly before stuttering a response.

"Are you s-serious?" the taller of the two nodded, extending a hand. his counterpart smiled, a little too excitedly, and fumbled frantically with the ties to his apron, handing it over. "Excellent! You're hired!"

He began rushing to the door, patting himself down for car keys, and paused. "Hey, hang on a minute. Can you cook?"

Hiirou glared. "Would I have asked if I didn't?"

Point conceded, the darker-haired young man was out the door and Hiirou heard the distinct sound of tires screeching over gravel moments later.

As he shuffled into the kitchen, he absently hoped that the other youth didn't drive like that with the kids in the car.

* * *

1740EST20OCT04


	2. Maximum Pulse Chapter Two

_Disclaimer: Shin Kidousenki New Mobile War Chronicle Gundam Wing and all  
affiliated characters are property of Bandai, Setsu Agency._

**Title: Maximum Pulse**  
Authors: _Switchblade003 Sanyu-Kumiko (Collaboration)_  
Chapter 2: Tricks of the Trade  
Pairing: DuoxHeero  
Rating: PG-13  
Status: Incomplete, but active.

* * *

"Hiirou, I'm going to need you to run these to Main Street, okay?" Prussian eyes glanced up from the poreclain tiles of the Chang's kitchen floor to meet the much darker, almond-shaped pain that belonged to Wufeii's wife.

He'd worked for the family for almost two weeks now, and it was thwe best job he could have asked for. They paid well, the work wasn't too difficult, but above all of that, they were genuinely good people, an although he was only twenty years old he knew that a high level of moral standard was hard to come by these days.

He snatched the bag off of the counter, frowning at the address scribbled on top, and his helmet from beside the register, calling out a hasty greeting as he ducked out of the front door. His bike stood on the side of the small parking lot, gleaming in the harsh sunlight of a typical Thursday afternoon in Reno. It was really the only thing that he had anymore, ever since he had to leave to college...

Better not think about that.

Hiirou tugged his helmet on, secured his order to the back of the bike, and climbed on, and he was two seconds away from starting the engine when Wufei came running out the door in a hurry. "Yui, wait a second! That's the wrong address!"

Frowning, the Japanese youth turned behind him, looked at the scribbled instructions once more, and arched an eyebrow. "Two doors down. The garage in the next lot."

Hiirou nodded, revving his engine, and mentally balked as he pulled out of the parking lot. He'd driven by that dump more than once, and he wasn't too fond of the place. It was an eyesore, and the large, not-so-friendly rottweilers out front were more than a little discouraging.

"Work is work, I guess," he muttered as he pulled in, and glanced around with increasing paranoia as he realized that he couldn't see the canines anywhere.

Maybe he had gotten lucky and the owners had locked them up out back. He smirked.

The huge retractable doors to the main garage were open, so he decided to scope the place out. Taking his order with him, he made a cautious approach but found nothing aside scrapped cars and random parts littering the floor. "Delivery?"

There was a loud clatter of metal on cement, followed shortly by what sounded like "Fuck!", and then tires rolling. A young man approximately his own height and build came out from under an old station wagon clutching his head and muttering.

"Jesus H. Christ, buddy! You scared the shit out of me!"

Hiirou normally would have retaliated with a smart-assed comment, but he was a little taken aback by the other youth's appearance, and that bothered him. The mechanic--he supposed one would call him that--was gorgeous. He really couldn't conjure up another word to describe the guy. If he looked past the plain navy jumpsuit, and the random grease smears across his face, he was pretty damn attractive. Dark violet eyes, fair skin, and when the mechanic cocked his head to the side in a curious expression Hiirou saw a three-foot long rope of chestnut-brown hair behind him.

"Yo, you lost?" Even his voice was pleasant, and it was probably that which shook Hiirou from his eye-rape of the other boy. The last guy that he'd harbored these kind of thoughts for had ruined him, and he'd be damned before he'd give someone else that opportunity. That last thought almost saddened him, because he realized that if he wanted one, a friendship with this boy--the nametag embroidered to his shirt read "Maxwell"--was doomed from the start.

"I have a delivery for you. From next door." His own voice sounded dead, monotonous to even himself. _Way to go, Yui. Why not just tell him you're autistic?_

"Oh. That's cool. Just throw it on the workbench over there." The brunette pointed absently to somewhere on his left and walked back to his project, flipping his braid over one shoulder.

"That'll be eight-ten, Mr. Maxwell."

The mechanic chuckled, out-of-sight, and waved Hiirou off. "Call me 'Duo", and just put it on my tab."

Hiirou arched an eyebrow, snorting. "Your tab?"

A clanking of rusty parts nearly deafened him, and Duo cackled gleefully. "Oh, sure. Meiran won't mind. Her car's due in for an inspection this month."

Hiirou paused for a moment, prepared to retort, and then sighed. "Listen, _buddy_. I'm not leaving here until you pay me."

There was a snort from the back of the garage, and Duo popped up from behind the station wagon, disbelief written across handsome features. "Are you kiddin' me?"

Hiirou put on his best no-nonsense expression and waited, arms folded over his chest. Duo visably deflated. " You're serious, huh? Fine, fine..." The mechanic fumbled around in his pockets for a second, and then a cordless phone came flying across the garage.

The Japanese youth caught it deftly enough, only to realize that it was all ready dialed and ringing, and he heard Meiran pick up on the other end. "Meiran, the guy that you sent me out to is claiming something about a tab?" He watched the young man make an exasperated face and then sink down to the floor to resume his work.

"Yeah, just let it go. There's a log that we keep for him under the register. When you get back just throw the receipt in there. Duo works on our car when we need it fixed, and he keeps an eye on the girls for us from time to time."

Hiirou's eyebrows shot up to his hairline and he balked. "This is the great mechanic that Wufei's been talking about?"

Meiran laughed. "Yes. Duo can fix anything. You should let him take a look at your motorcycle sometime."

The very idea of someone touching his cycle was enough to make Hiirou shudder. "Thanks. I'll be back in a few minutes." He hung up and looked over to find a disgruntled young grease monkey glaring at him.

"Told you so." It was an immature comment, but it almost got a smile out of the Japanese youth. Instead he threw the phone at the boy, who grinned as he caught it. "What'd ya say your name was? This service is terrible."

Hiirou snorted and walked out of the garage. The sunlight hit him like a liquid wave of bright heat and he threw his helmet on as he sat down on his bike. "I didn't."

Duo raised an eyebrow and waited patiently, and finally the other boy frowned and answered.

"It's Hiirou." He saw the other youth's full lips twitch in response, and he could have sworn that his jeans suddenly felt tighter. It made him uncomfortable, but he didn't mind for some bizarre reason. "Any snide comments and I'll gut you with a Craftsman."

The mechanic's hands were out of his deep pockets and in the air in what could have been record time. "Woah, hold your horses, there, buddy! I've got no problems with Asians." He snickered. "Hell, Eggroll Chang is one of my best friends."

Hiirou turned away from the boy's grin with a shake of his head and turned his keys in the ignition. "Hey! Wait up! I owe you a tip!" He turned back to watch Duo disappear into the garage, then emerge with something in his hand. It hit the light as he approached, and Hiirou frowned.

"What are you doing?" His eyes widened a bit as the mechanic squatted down beside his bike, squinting, and he recognized the tool in the other boy's hand to be a wrench. Duo slapped his thigh with it and smiled disarmingly.

"Lift up." He instructed, and the Asian reluctantly complied. Duo spent a good twenty seconds fiddling with something on the side of his bike. Hiirou, more than a little jumpy at the boy's close proximity, and when the American sat back on his haunches, the motorcycle's engine sounded much smoother. "There."

The delivery boy was honestly impressed. Maybe he was every bit the mechanic that Wufei's had claimed him to be.... "How'd you do that?

Duo stood, stretching, and this time Hiirou couldn't make himself turn away. It crossed his mind that he'd honestly like to see what the braided boy looked like out of that jumpsuit, but he shook it off in favor of his newfound curiosity in just what Duo had done to his bike. "It's a secret."

Duo scratched his back with the wrench, that shit-eating grin firmly in place. "Can't go around advertising tricks of the trade, now can I? That's why we're the best garage this side of Las Vegas." He yawned and leaned back against the chain-linked fence that encircled the lot. "That's a Suzuki Hayabasu, right? A 2003?"

Hiirou nodded. "Right. It was a present from my parents for graduating."

The mechanic smiled. "Yeah, my bro used to ride a Hayabasu. Fastest bike I've ever seen."

The Japanese youth was suddenly interested. He'd never met another person who owned his bike and if there was someone in the area with some knowledge on it he'd have to go talk to him. "Does he really? Does he race?"

Duo's amethyst eyes grew dark, and his face lost its charming qualitiy. He looked older somehow, and a lot more jaded. "I said 'used to'."

It was obviously a bad subject for the American. Hiirou wanted to know more, but it really wasn't his place to ask. He sighed and turned back to his bike. "Well, thanks."

Duo smiled again, seemingly back to the enthusiastic youth that Hiirou had met almost twenty minutes ago, but there was still something off about him, a hard edge to his eyes. "Sure thing. Bring that bike by sometime. I've got a few hard-to-come-by parts lying around."

The Japanese boy nodded and pulled out of the parking lot. For the first time since he'd left school, he found himself watching someone in his rear- view mirror the whole way up the street.

* * *

0335EST21Oct04


	3. Maximum Pulse Chapter Three

_Disclaimer: Shin Kidousenki New Mobile War Chronicle Gundam Wing and all  
affiliated characters are property of Bandai, Setsu Agency._

**Title: Maximum Pulse  
**Authors: _Switchblade003 Sanyu-Kumiko (Collaboration)  
_Chapter 3: Enter the Uptown Jets  
Pairing: DuoxHeero  
Rating: R  
Status: Incomplete, but active.

* * *

Running deliveries was probably the best part of his job.

At first, he'd hated having to drive around town, trying to find his way to specific locations that he wasn't familiar with, but he had the city memorized now. Every address was a point on a mental map that he'd concocted, and he had gotten a few tips from Meiran about the sidestreets and shortcuts.

Meiran was an interesting person. She was one of the most dynamic females that Hiirou had ever run across, and he liked her. He seldom took a liking to people, but she'd found a place in his heart, just as Wufei and the girls had. They were just good people. Wufei was a family man, and although he seemed strict and very straight-laced, Hiirou would catch him playing insanely kiddish games with the twins, or yelling at the television from time to time. He'd even seen him engaged in a heated round of poker with Duo a while ago. They were all normal people, and while every family had its quirks, Hiirou wouldn't have traded the Changs for any other in the state.

Business had been steady lately, a constant stream of regulars, but most of their profit came from deliveries, and that's where Hiirou and his Hayabasu came in. It had started off as a bet between Wufei and Duo, but somewhere along the way the Chinatown Restaurant had picked up the reputation of having an order delivered in ten minutes or less. He'd never been late yet.

Half of this he owed to his own reckless driving, but most of the credit went to his bike. He'd had the Suzuki for almost four years now. It was a good piece of machinery; fast, efficient, and cheap to repair. Duo had offered to do a few upgrades for him, but he'd tried to steer clear of the American mechanic since that incident at the garage a few weeks ago. If there was one thing that made the Japanese youth skittish, it was his own damnable habit of falling for people who would eventually stab him in the back, and letting his testosterone think for him.

Hiirou had made that mistake once, and he'd be damned if he was going to give someone else the opportunity. His view was simple - if he didn't develop any real attachments, it wouldn't hurt quite so much when his 'friends' fucked him over. To Hiirou, emotions were synonamous with pain. For the time being, the Changs were no real threat to him, but Duo on the other hand . . .

Hiirou accelerated around a turn, frowning as the outside of his calf almost skimmed the pavement, and gripped his handlebars with enough force to bend metal. He couldn't explain what he felt about Duo, but he was certain that he didn't like it. The guy was attractive, and amusing at best, but he seemed like the type to get what he wanted out of people and leave them without a backwards glance. He was the wrong type, the dangerous type.

_Duo is the same calibur person as that asshole from school..._

_No._

Cobalt eyes glared at the road ahead. Rehashing bad memories would only serve to ruin his day, and it didn't accomplish anything. He had a job to do, and that was his primary objective. The Changs had given him a place to live, a line of work, and their trust. He couldn't let them down.

His watch told him that he had two minutes to find this address, so he scanned his surroundings and found himself in the uptown of the city. The area was nice, a little too posh for his tastes, but it was quite a stark contrast to the east end where the restaurant was. Neatly landscaped lawns, color- coordinating mailboxes and siding, and at the end of the long residential neighborhood stood an impressive-looking building that he assumed was his location.

Wufei had told him that the place was a garage, the only other shop in the city, but he almost checked the address again. The building didn't look anything like Duo's junkyard. There was no chain-linked barbed wire fencing, no intimidating dogs, no lemons on cinderblocks on the sides of the establishment. No, this place was clean and well-maintenanced, and Hiirou wondered if Wufei was an idiot for bringing his car anywhere but here.

_No, there's got to be a reason, and a damned good one._

Hiirou toed his kickstand down, tugging his helmet off and leaving it on the bike's seat as he retrieved the order and made his way to the open main doors. As he approached he noticed that this place seemed a lot busier than Duo's garage. There was a group of around ten men standing inside the doorway, engaged in a low and heated conversation, and as soon as one of them noticed him, they all rushed forward. "Whoa, just what the hell do you think you're doing in here?"

The Japanese youth put his hands up in a submissive gesture, backing out of the garage and stopped short when he felt his bike against his legs. "I'm here for a delivery. Sorry." Hiirou was a smart guy; whatever they had been discussing must have been important and obviously confidential, because they all looked uneasy, and the one who had snapped at him now stood at their center, glaring him down with annoyed red eyes. He was of a slight build, slender, long-legged, and blonde, with a handsome enough face and a wicked sneer.

"You're late," he snorted, snatching the bag from Hiirou's hands and stalking around him like a lion on the prowl. The delivery boy didn't much care for playing the role of gazelle, so he stepped forward, returning the glare with experienced fervor.

"Actually I have ten seconds to spare," he retorted calmly, and the men around him--Hell, who was he kidding? These kids were no older than he was.-- exchanged looks. The blonde chuckled coldly, extending his hand, a crisp twenty between gloved fingers.

"Well, pal, take the money and scram. We've got better things to do with our time than chitchat with the lower class."

Perhaps it was the mocking tone, or maybe the guy's attitude in general that pissed Hiirou off, but some primal part of him felt the urge to rip this guy's arms off and beat him with them. He was being an asshole, and for no good reason that the Asian could decipher. He ground his teeth together to keep from speaking his mind, but it was a losing battle.

"Maybe if you took your head out of your ass and stopped acting like such a hotshot you'd have more time to talk." The more macho half of Hiirou's conscience applauded him.

His more reasonable self balked and then cried. Blondie stopped short and his face went from smug to livid in less time than it took for the Japanese youth to regret ever having responded. "You little shit. Who the fuck do you think you are? Do you know who's turf you're on?"

Hiirou honestly didn't know, but he wished that someone had told him sooner. Gang wars weren't his thing. "Are you going to tell me?" he asked innocently.

The leader of the group laughed outright, stepping into a proximity that Hiirou wasn't comfortable with. He reeked of cigarettes, alcohol, and a mixture of pot and deodorant that the brunette hadn't smelled since college. "Look guys," he mocked, grinning. "Rice here doesn't know where he is."

_Okay, that was unnecessary._

"Maybe we should teach him to respect the authority on the upper end, eh?" Hiirou was so busy staring down the blonde in front of him that he missed the other lackey sidestep them both, and it wasn't until he heard the ear-splitting grate of metal on metal that he turned. His heart plunged to his stomach at what he saw. There was a long, jagged gash down the side of his Hayabasu, and the prick responsible was sitting on the black leather seat of his bike grinning like a maniac.

The silver paint was destroyed, and Hiirou felt his control snap.

"You're dead," he growled, lunging forward to tackle the man, but the blonde caught him around the middle and punched him in the shoulder blade, winding him just long enough to toss him to the ground and allow his accomplice to slink back towards the garage.

He kneeled down beside Hiirou and smirked. "A little delivery boy like you doesn't know how to ride a bike like that, anyway. Don't cry," he snickered.

Hiirou picked himself up off of the ground and spat, pointing past the group to the bikes sitting inside the shop. "Just because your mommies bought you all cycles doesn't mean that you know how to ride."

That must have struck a chord with a few of the group, because they fell quiet, and blondie stepped forward again, expression serious. "If you're so keen on your own skills, Rice, then meet me at the corner of Sixth and Ivy Street tonight at midnight. I'll show you how the pros race."

It was a stupid challenge, a hollow bet. It reminded Hiirou of all the times that his friends had 'double dog dared' him to try retarded stunts on the playgrounds in elementary school. To accept such an insignificant deal would have been admitting that he felt the need to prove himself, but Hiirou was in an off mood at the moment, so he nodded curtly in affirmation, turned on his heel, and mounted his bike, revving loudly as he peeled out of the driveway. He was halfway back to the restaurant when he realized that he'd forgotten the cash for the delivery.

"You idiot! You're not turning my family's car into another of your projects!" Wufei was shouting again, and that could only mean that Duo was in the restaurant. He had successfully avoided the braided mechanic until now, but he had more important things on his mind than his own traitorous body parts and that loudmouthed American. So he stalked past the table where Duo and his employer were arguing and into the kitchen. The two followed shortly after him.

"Yui? What's up?" He turned away from the dishwasher to meet concerned chocolate eyes. Over Wufei's left shoulder Duo was leaned against the doorway idly, staring at the wall as if the cure for cancer lay within the tacky wallpaper. Idly the Japanese youth realized that his long-haired counterpart must have caught on to the virtual cat and mouse game that he'd been playing these past few days, and he almost felt guilty.

_Almost..._

"That address you sent me to? Those assholes keyed my bike." The comment hung in the air for a moment before Wufei responded, and when he did he sounded very nervous. "Oh. I forgot to mention that to you before you left. Those guys have a bad history around here. I wouldn't mess with them if you aren't looking for serious trouble." Duo arched an eyebrow in response, snorting, and both Asians ignored him.

"He challenged me to a race." That got Duo's head to turn, and Meiran popped in from the dining room. Before him, Wufei rubbed his eyes anxiously, shaking his head.

"Bad idea. Just let it go, Hiirou. I'm telling you--"

"Oh, _fuck_ that!" Duo barged past both Changs and shoved Hiirou almost roughly. "You don't have to take shit off of those jerks! Whoop their asses, Hiirou!"

Wufei sighed irritably, pushing the mechanic away. "Don't listen to that idiot. He'll get you killed. You don't know what you're getting yourself into... Meiran!" The Chinese man turned to his wife. "Talk some sense into him!" He wandered out of the kitchen, grumbling.

The woman smiled, shaking her head, and gave Hiirou a knowing look. "Wufei's right. It's dangerous, and they aren't the best of people. Besides, my husband would never stand up for himself by taking that guy on..." She counted down from three on her fingers silently while speaking, and sure enough, Wufei came bursting back into the kitchen on que.

"Woman, what are you talking about! Of course I'd race that jackass if they had challenged me!"

Duo and Meiran gave the Chinese man taunting smiles, and he deflated with a half-hearted growl of annoyance. "Fine, you two win." he turned back to the newest addition to their family. "Race him if you want to. But don't say that I didn't warn you! We can't afford to lose another delivery boy..."

0258EST25Oct04

* * *

"You're not coming with me."

Duo looked almost wounded, but Hiirou refused to respond to the hurt look in those beautiful amaryllis eyes. The American wasn't going to get his way on this one. This was something that Hiirou needed to take care of on his own, but the mechanic just wouldn't listen. "I won't get in the way, I promise! I just want to make sure they don't try and jump you or anything."

The thought of needing 'backup' was almost comical to the Japanese youth. "I'll be fine."

The mechanic looked as if he wanted to argue, but Hiirou didn't give him the opportunity. He sped off to his destination, half-hoping the braided idiot would follow. Truth be told, he was a little nervous about this rendezvous with the uptown garage. Once they found out that he wasn't just a delivery boy with a smart mouth, they'd probably employ any means necessary to ensure that they didn't lose this race. These guys were all about cheating, breaking the rules, and playing dirty, of that Hiirou was certain. The real question was as to whether he would be smart enough to catch on to their tricks before they caused him to crash.

The Japanese youth thought this over the entire way up Main Street, and as he turned the streetlamp-spotted corners to the neighborhood they'd chosen, he found himself glancing at his rearview mirrors every so often. Duo was no where in sight.

"This is how the race'll go down," a tall redhead was shouting from his perch atop the abandoned restaurant across the street. "You guys drive up Sixth and make a left on Maple Street. Follow it down to the Fire Station, swing another left, and then work your way up to the south end of Ivy. First person to wipe out loses. First person back to the checkpoint wins." The youth's mocking tone turned serious suddenly, and he stood. "At the first sign of the cops, it's every man for himself. We split, and the person closest to the checkpoint is the winner. No exceptions."

Hiirou didn't much like the idea of running from the cops, but the guy had a point. They were already breaking the law; if he stopped, he'd get arrested. If he ran, however, it was evading arrest, but he knew that he could get away. "Get ready."

He walked his way to the starting line that had been hastily scribbled on the pavement with what appeared to be sidewalk chalk, and checked his gauges. Beside him, Blondie was talking trash to his friends, and Hiirou decided that he definately didn't like the knowing smiles they were giving each other. Something was up...

"Hey, Blondie."

The man in question looked up and grinned smugly at him. "Any last words, Rice?"

Hiirou forced a tight smile and chuckled. "No, I'd like to up the ante."

The other men grew quiet, interested, and Hiirou shrugged. "How about this; if I win, you pay to replace the paint job on my bike?"

With a barking laugh, the blonde nodded. "That's a good one. Okay, Rice. If you win I'll give that crotch-rocket of yours a brand new coat of paint. But when I win, I'm expecting pork-fried rice everyday for the next month, got it?" His friends laughed at Hiirou's expense and traded high- fives. "Let's get this bullshit over with." The boy who'd been issuing rules moments ago stepped forward.

"On my signal." The redhead stood between their bikes, and started counting down from five.

This is the stupidest thing I've done in a very long time, the brunette sighed internally.

"...One." The redhead made a loud whistling sound, and Hiirou gunned his engine.

The course had been a straight-shot, and until the final left turn back onto Ivy, everything had gone well. His bike was handling as smooth as always, and he'd given the leader of the garage a run for his money. That had been until, of course, the other garage members had thrown broken beer bottles into the street and damned near shredded his front tire. Now he was angry, and with every acceleration he made he was cursing that blonde son-of-a-bitch with everything in him.

The asshole in question was only two feet ahead of him and accelerating, so Hiirou decided to throw caution to the wind and do the only thing he could think of to keep from having to deliver rice to that garage for the next thirty-one days straight. He rammed the jerk's back tire with his torn front one, and almost cackled when the other bike spun out, throwing its rider and falling into a smoking heap on the side of the road. Blondie shouted and cursed behind him, and Hiirou took the time to flip him the bird as he drove towards the checkpoint at a leisurely pace.

When he got to the checkpoint on Ivy Street, the garage group looked shocked. Perhaps it was the fact that their broken glass antics had failed, or maybe it was the idea that a delivery boy had beaten their leader, but they all seemed to sober up fairly quickly. Hiirou resisted the urge to laugh once again. "I believe you owe me a new paint job?"

The redhead paused, frowning, and cleared his throat. "You beat him." _Thank you, Captain Obvious._ The Japanese youth nodded, pulling his helmet off, and he looked past the men to find a very proud-looking Duo leaned against an older-model Chevrolet. The mechanic flashed him a thumbs-up before walking up behind the garage jerks and snickering. "You can just hand the money over to me, losers. I'll be taking care of that."

Hiirou fought down the urge to grin, although he knew that Duo's big mouth was going to land them in a world of shit. For now he didn't care. He'd forgotten how good it felt to race, and to win, and he missed it.

"Give him the money and let's get the hell out of here." One of the men handed Duo an obscene amount of cash and turned to walk off, and the braided youth squawked in indignation.

"Whattarya, Jewish?! There isn't enough here to buy a case of spraypaint!" The man glared at the much smaller youth and raised a fist. "Punk, you'd better get the hell out of my face--"

"Or what?" Duo cut in. He stepped up to the man, pushing his sleeves up, but before Hiirou could intervene, he'd already taken a swing at the other male. By the time he'd dismounted his bike, the guy had caught the punch easily and had Duo practically dangling from his grip.

"Rice, you'd better keep your little bitch in check before something happens to him," he grinned, tossing the mechanic to the street like a ragdoll.

Duo hit the asphault with a sickening crunch, and Hiirou winced.

"Excuse me?" He snapped, patience worn thin. His overwhelming--and entirely unwanted--need to go check on the American was currently outweighed by the need to convey superiority over the garage members now surrounding him. "Look, we'll take the money and be on our way, if that's all right."

He was ready for a brawl, but he'd have rather avoided one if possible. Hiirou had definately exceeded his quota of illegal activity for the night.

"Your friend needs to learn to keep his pie-hole shut. If you think you're that great, then you won't mind racing me and the rest of my crew. We'll send you the information. Just fix that shitty paint-job, Rice."

They dispersed at that, and Hiirou was left standing in the middle of Ivy Street, glaring down at a semi-conscious Duo. He growled angrilly, fists clenched, and watched the braided idiot roll idly on the pavement, clutching his stomach. "This is all your fault!"

* * *

0347EST25Oct04


	4. Maximum Pulse Chapter Four

_Disclaimer: Shin Kidousenki New Mobile War Chronicle Gundam Wing and all  
affiliated characters are property of Bandai, Setsu Agency._

**Title: Maximum Pulse  
**Authors: _Switchblade003 Sanyu-Kumiko (Collaboration)  
_Chapter 4: Big City Races  
Rating: PG-13  
Pairing: DuoxHeero  
Status: Incomplete, but active.

* * *

Two days after the race everything had returned to normal at the Chinatown Restaurant.

Wufei was out back, mowing the lawn while Meiran took the girls to school, and Hiirou found himself standing in the kitchen for yet another morning of food preparation and produce orders. Before that first unofficial race, his life had seemed content enough, but now every chore that he took on seemed so menial, so pointless. He'd forgotten what it felt like to get on his bike, gun his engine, and let his adrenaline take over, and now that he'd been submersed in that temporary euphoria once more, everyday tasks seemed so mundane.

But he had a job to do, and he set to it with a conviction borne of preoccupation. The knife in his hands sliced cleanly and expertly through its target without thought, and Hiirou mulled over his current situation.

No one had openly mentioned the race since that night, though Meiran would make the occassional odd comment in reference, and Wufei seemed a little preoccupied with the other garage lately.

He'd caught the Chinese man and Duo in heated discussions in the dining room at all hours of the night, recently...

_Speaking of Duo._

The mechanic had been livid with him after the altercation with the uptown garage members. He'd claimed to have been 'sticking up for Hiirou' when he'd smarted off to the men, but the Japanese youth knew better.

The braided American just had a knack for causing trouble. It followed him around like a forboding rain cloud, and Hiirou preferred to steer clear of any potential 'storms' brewing in that idiot's head. He'd been avoiding prolonged contact with his violet-eyed counterpart after their first meeting, anyway.

Now he felt more than justified in his attitude of moderated tolerance of the boy...

"Hiirou! There's something in the mail for you!"

...It was just that no matter how hard he tried to be hostile with the mechanic, Duo just shrugged it off and came back for more, like an abused spouse. The long-haired young man came barreling into the kitchen, a confused look on his handsome face, and Hiirou wanted to scream in frustration.

"It's a Christmas card," Duo mumbled. He handed the green and red envelope to Hiirou. "Who the hell sends a Christmas card in October?"

The Japanese youth shrugged, opening the mail with a frown on his lips, and when he pulled the card out, Duo snorted, obviously unamused.

It was a generic holiday greeting card, with a little reindeer on the front, and scrawled across it in permanent black marker were the words, **"Merry Christmas, Motherfuckers!"**

"Nice," Duo whistled from behind the Asian, and Hiirou decided to overlook the not-so-festive greeting, opening the card. Inside, he found a folded map of the more metropolitan area of their city, and a section of the streets had been highlighted. The note inside the card read,  
"Starting point: Starbucks on Fifth Avenue.  
1AM, Sunday. BYOB."

Hiirou paused at that last part. "Bring your own beer?" he asked, turning to Duo. The mechanic was fuming.

"No, stupid. Bring your own bitch." The Japanese youth still looked confused, so the other boy elaborated. "It's a racing term. A 'bitch' is your mechanic and engines tech."

He waited for the delivery boy to catch on. "Me!" Then he threw his hands up disgust, groaned, and stormed out of the kitchen, leaving Hiirou to ponder over how Duo had become his new mechanic. He removed the map, tucking it into his back pocket, and he noticed one more line in the card.

"Reward for winner is one grand."

Hiirou's eyes widened at the figure.

This racing business was looking very lucrative.

0446EST26Oct04

* * *

The city was quiet as Hiirou sat listening to the new 'ref' of the races.

He could hear distant, faint traffic noises, but the coffee shop across the street from them was dark, as were the office buildings that loomed twenty or so stories over them. To his left, Duo stood with his arms crossed over his chest, a baseball cap pulled down over his eyes, and from under the ducked brim of the hat Hiirou saw the glowing orange cherry of a cigarette burning.

The mechanic was in a foul mood, but it kept him from talking the Japanese youth's ear off, so he supposed he'd let it go for now.

On Duo's other side, the redhead with the temper was sitting on his bike, pretending to snore as their 'ref' gave instructions.

Hiirou sighed. He still couldn't remember why he'd decided to race again, but he supposed that he'd probably had a fairly good reason. Probably...

"Here's how this is gonna work. On my signal, you two start, and you'll follow the course highlighted on the maps. If you forget where to turn, we've got you covered." Another boy behind him stood up with a brightly-colored band poster and held it up for everyone to see.

"We pinched these out of the local concert hall. We've posted them on the cooresponding side of each street that you need to turn on. Right now we've got a decoy running up and down the course, so as soon as I get the clear we'll start the race..."

Hiirou reached out and grabbed Duo's arm, tugging him over.

"What's a decoy?" he inquired in a hushed tone,

and the American rolled his eyes.

"A decoy is another bike or car that runs the course about half an hour before you do. They use him to keep the local law enforcement preoccupied. He leads the cops away from the course and leaves it clear for the race." Hiirou nodded.

That idea was pretty smart. If they didn't distract the cops, the races would be over in minutes, because in a big city like this one, the police were everywhere.

"All right, techs! Check your opponent's bike."

Hiirou shifted nervously as a greasy-looking guy slumped down beside his bike to check for any 'special features' that might give him an unfair advantage in the race, and he snorted wryly.

_As if racing against this garage wasn't a big enough disadvantage..._

Across the street, Duo was kneeling down beside the redhead's bike, cigarette between his teeth, giving the other guy a hard time.

"You wanna get that damned cigarette away from my ride?" Duo arched an eyebrow, blowing a large cloud of grey smoke into the other youth's face and smirking. "Not particularly." He stood, dusting his knees off, and flashed the 'ref' a thumbs-up.

"Listen up," their mediator collapsed his cellular phone and nodded. "The cops are taken care of. We've got them halfway across town, so let's get this party started. On my signal."

Hiirou revved his engine, feeling a lot more confident than he had at that first race. He realized that these subsequent face-offs were all important to the hierarchy of the uptown garage--Duo had taken to calling them the "Jets", a joke from an old American musical.

These current races determined who would assume leadership of the garage, and Hiirou was the test. He guessed that the first man to beat him in these races would replace Blondie as head of their circle. He had no intention of losing, any time soon.

"Go!"

* * *

Zechs Merquise was bored. He'd been sitting outside his favorite diner for nearly an hour, trying to decide whether he wanted to eat, or simply call it a night and go home, when a black Nissan Maxima had flown down the street beside the diner, a group of squad cars in hot pursuit. He'd flung the door to his Celica open, grabbing his radio and calling in to dispatch to see if the officers needed assistance, but he was off-duty, so the woman had told him more or less to stay out of it.

Minutely heartbroken, the officer had slumped over his open car door, radio in- hand, and his night was beginning to look like a total waste, when from around the corner the roaring of engines had echoed through the empty parking lot almost twenty minutes later, and for a moment he wondered if the Maxima was just leading the police cars around in a circle. Instead, he watched as a silver motorcycle with a jagged scratch down one side came barreling down the road, a blue bike close behind it.

They were operating at dangerously high speeds, and Zechs suddenly felt like a kid in a candy store.

Chuckling, he jumped into his car and peeled out of the parking lot, leaving a cloud of dust behind him. "0136 to dispatch," he sung into his radio, jerking his steering wheel sharply to keep up with the much more agile bikes while fumbling with his seatbelt. "Be advised, I've got two import bikes in my sight, travelling on Seventh Avenue at speeds in excess of seventy miles per hour. I'm going to need some backup."

* * *

The guy behind him had to be a cop.

Hiirou mulled this over as he made a hard left, trying to keep up with the redhead, but at these speeds one of them was going to total. He fell back just a bit and tried to find a way to ditch the Celica that was practically up his ass, but he wasn't finding anything useful. Swearing, he sped up. Maybe if he drove a little more recklessly, the cop would have no choice but to fall back. The problem with that idea was that the car behind him was definately not a police vehicle, and from the hissing noises it made every time the transmission shifted, it probably wasn't even street legal. It was definately a cop, though, because from his rearview mirrors, Hiirou could see the man talking into a radio. This was decidedly not good.

Beside him, the redhead looked pretty confident, and it struck Hiirou then that those garage assholes had probably prepared for this kind of thing.

Sure enough, the blue bike veered down a side alley, racing up a metal ramp and into the back of a waiting moving van. "Son of a bitch!" He was losing his patience, and now the Celica only had one target.

Things weren't looking good for Hiirou.

The sian glanced down at his gauges. He was almost forty over the speed limit. That added up to speeding, reckless driving, public endangerment, and racketeering if they could prove it. It was either pull over and spend the next decade of his life as jailbait or tack on evading arrest. It was a split-second decision. but Hiirou made it and swerved between two slower moving vehicles.

The Celica avoided a near-accident, bypassing the cars, and was back on his tail.

Time for a little more drastic measures. Gritting his teeth, the Japanese youth drove his bike over the solid yellow line in the center of the street, directly into oncoming traffic, and prayed that the cop wouldn't dare to follow him. He barely made it around an opposite-bound truck, turning onto an entrance ramp for the highway. When he checked his rearview mirrors again, the silver

Celica was no where in sight.

* * *

0545EST26Oct04


	5. Maximum Pulse Chapter Five

Title: Maximum Pulse  
Author: _Switchblade003 Sanyu-Kumiko (Collaboration)  
_**Chapter 5 : Spark Plugs and Scanners**  
Status: Complete, open to revision

* * *

"Son of a bitch!"

Under normal circumstances Hiirou probably would have looked up from his work to ensure that his friend was all right, but instead he found himself praying that Maxwell had broken something and that said injury would require much sedation.

"Dammit, Hiirou! I could use some help!" The Japanese youth withheld a cackle at his comrade's expense. He was probably being an asshole, but for some reason all he could think about was the mechanic and animal tranquilizers. Duo had been running his damned mouth about the race for the past two days, and after forty-eight hours of nonstop bantering from the American, Hiirou was seeing red.

"I don't work here." The response was calm, but the conditional threat rested in the glare he threw at the other youth, and Duo--dumb as he could be on any other occassion--silenced himself by sucking on his injured finger. He turned back to the expensive white car he'd been working on with an air of one who has been routinely put off for an extended period of time, and peace had been restored to the garage.

"You know, Hiirou, I'd stop bein' so hostile if I were you," Duo stated, matter-of-factly, sticking his tongue out in a gesture of concentration as he tugged at a spark plug wire. "Now that you've had a run-in with the cops, you need all the friends you can get." From this statement he paused, and then lapsed into an enthousiatic, and yet quiet, rendition of the theme from "Cops".

"'...All suspects are innocent until proven guilty, in a court of law...'"

There was a discreet laugh disguised at the last minute as a cough, and Hiirou glanced up and across the garage, to the small, hastily-scribbled sign on one wall of the place that read "Lobby", and directly under that sign sat a young man and his laptop. Prussian met sky blue for a brief moment before the blonde's eyes turned back to his LCD display, and Hiirou was dangerously close to homicide. "You know, Duo, it would be a lot easier to steer clear of the damned cops if you'd keep your mouth shut in front of complete strangers!" he shouted, and the mechanic laughed.

"What, Q? He's not a stranger. I've known him for years." Duo's chestnut-colored braid snaked out from under the hood behind him as he stood and stretched. "Right, Quatre?" The boy in question smiled in a very innocent way that Hiirou immediately didn't trust, and he shook jagged bangs from his face.

"Unfortunately." The statement was presented with mock consternation, and the cheerful blonde turned to Hiirou. "Just ignore him. And your secret's safe with me. I can't tell you the number of times this idiot has had to spend the night in jail." He jerked a thumb at Duo, who gave a nervous chuckle and dived back under the hood of Quatre's car.

Somewhat reassured, Hiirou went back to primering down his bike, only to be interrupted again by Duo's ever-obnoxious voice. "That really was a close call with the cops the other night."

Hiirou snorted. "Really? I hadn't noticed."

"Well, I wasn't trying to play Captain Obvious, asshole, but we need to try to avoid that in the future, don't you think?"

As aggrivating as the American had been, as of late, he had a point. "Yes, but what can we do? It's virtually impossible to keep tabs on every cop in the city at any given time." He began sanding with renewed vigor wrought from distress. He wasn't about to quit racing again, but this matter of the police was really throwing a wrench in the works.

"Actually..." The blonde paused in his typing. "Their Dispatch officer keeps track of them all through radios and GPS."

Duo and Hiirou paused in their respective tasks and shot each other a look before turning to Quatre. "What?"

The fair-skinned youth in the 'lobby' shrugged, closing his laptop. "I take it that niether of you was aware of that?" At the mutual shake of dark heads, the blonde laughed. "Well, if you have a scanner, you can tune into their frequency and eventually they all have to report in. It's completely illegal to monitor them for criminal purposes, of course..."

"Hey, Q?" Hiirou and Quatre both looked to Duo, and from behind his bike, the Japanese youth decided that the expression on the mechanic's face was perhaps the most sinisterly charming and devious look that he'd ever seen. He could in turn understand and even sympathize with the plight Quatre now faced. Duo was eyeing him like a wild dog regards an injured rabbit. "What do you do for a living, again?"

The brunette's voice was as sweet as honey and his expression roguishly charismatic to boot. This wasn't looking good for Quatre. "I design sscanners and radio equipment for the local police departments..." He paused, his rosy lips forming a small 'o', and then Quatre's eyebrows drew into a frown. "No _way_, Duo!"

Duo suddenly seemed a lot less confident in his persuasive abilities. "Oh, c'mon Cat! We need some help, and I'm sure if you build these bad boys then you have to hold a license to operate them, right?"

Quatre was packing his laptop into its case, outraged. "Of course I have a license! And it will be revoked the very instant that the police suspect that I am using it for illegal enterprises!"

The blonde had a valid point, and under normal circumstances Hiirou would have been disinclined to convince someone else to put his neck on the line for his own purposes, but for some reason he really wanted Quatre's help. Maybe it was his own desire to keep racing, or maybe it had something to do with the almost pleading look that Duo gave him, but he stood up from where he'd been more or less hiding behind his Hayabasu and cleared his throat. "Technically speaking, if you were to test your scanners and someone was able to hack into your device to reroute the information for illegal purposes, you wouldn't be doing anything wrong."

Duo and Quatre were silent for a moment, and then the radio technician sighed. "I suppose that's true..."

Without a moment's hesitation, the mechanic jumped on the line of thought that Hiirou had provided. "Yeah, Quatre. This is a great opportunity for you to test your equipment in a real life situation, you know." As Duo threw a companionable arm around the blonde's shoulders, Hiirou wondered for a fleeting minute if perhaps the idiot was capable of making himself useful after all. "I'm sure you can't get into any trouble if a pair of criminals like us were to tap into your intelligence and use it for our own personal gain."

Quatre nodded, and then grinned, and Hiirou wanted to liken the expression to watching a guardian angel playing a game of strip poker, it seemed so downright evil. "Okay, you two. But what's in it for me?" Duo fumbled over words, and Quatre arched an elegant brow. "I can test my products from the relative comfort of my office. Why take them to the streets? Where's my _real_ incentive?"

Hiirou could have laughed outright at the flustered expression on the brunette's handsome face. "Besides," the blonde continued, now levelling his commanding gaze on the Japanese youth. "I'd like to know just what you guys are up to before I agree to anything."

"Well," Duo frowned, gathering his senses. "Hiirou got chased by a cop a few nights back for racing."

Quatre rolled his eyes. "That's not very specific. Are we talking a casual testosterone-fueled match, or an organized, underground circuit race?" Hiirou smirked. The blonde might have seemed pretty naive and oblivious to the darker side of humanity, but he knew exactly what he was getting into.

"A little of both," he answered for Duo. "But if you want in, you're going to have to hold your own. If you provide the electronics and help us make it look like we're tapping information, we'll make you our honorary radio tech."

The blonde smiled, seemingly satisfied, and patted Duo's shoulder. "I'm in."

0904EST28Oct04

* * *

Hiirou had found out that their ref's name was Chad. From what they'd been able to find out, he was about their age, not affiliated with the uptown garage, and he might have been an ex-racer himself. Duo seemed to know him from somewhere, but wouldn't say. They weren't too concerned with his background though, because they'd learned to trust him to deliver unbiased results of each race. He'd sent out the latest 'Christmas Card', and they all met accordingly. On a side road in the middle of the metropolis, they stood aside their bikes.

Chad, unruly flame-red hair held back by a pair of yellow goggles, addressed the lot. "All right, listen up. My hawks from the last race determined the Hayabasu to be the winner of the previous race, because the Ninja veered off of the course first. That means that the thousand-dollar reward will be awarded to the downtown garage after tonight's festivities." He chuckled. "I see that our group is growin' on the downtown side?"

Duo was leaning against the tail-end of Hiirou's bike, puffing on a cigarette, and he spoke up. "The Chinese guy's our proprietor. He's just here to watch. And the blonde's our new canhead. He's here to keep an eye on the cops."

Chad arched an eyebrow, turning to Quatre. "Okay, kid. What've you got?"

The radio technician stepped forward, laying a heavy silver suitcase at his feet and kneeling down to open it. Inside lay a scanner, a compact laptop computer, a collapsible grid satellite, and any number of wires and chords. "Enough electronics to keep tabs on every cop in the city, help your decoy escape successfully, keep in touch with your racers, and scramble the police frequency if neccessary."

Chad's eyebrows shot up to his hairline, and he whistled, impressed. The Irish youth turned to Duo and grinned, his Gaelic drawl heavy with approval. "Oh, he's a keeper." He turned back to the crowd of the dozen or so motorcyclists around him in the alley. "All right, here's the deal. From now on these meets have to be a tad bit more organized. Each garage needs a mechanic, a radio tech., and your own van. Meet these requirements by the next race, or you're out. Pretty soon you'll be racin' garages from other cities, so you'd best get yourselves established, now."

The redhead climbed up onto a fire escape, travelling a little ways up before perching. "Mechanics, let's get those checks started." Hiirou stood beside his bike as the greasy guy that he was beginning to recognize as Duo's counterpart slunk over and did a thorough examination of his vehicle. He tuned the other man out, choosing instead to let his gaze linger on the braided American squatting down beside the Katana he'd be racing later tonight. He was smoking still, cigarette held carelessly between perfect teeth as he squinted at his work. The man who owned the bike, a black youth with a decidedly nasty leer, was keeping a firm eye on Duo--or, from what Hiirou noticed with a possessive twitch, certain parts of the downtown mechanic. He tore his gaze away, angry at himself for caring, and turned instead to the fire escape, where Chad was helping Quatre to set up his mobile substation.

"Mechs, all clear?"

The sleazy mechanic and Duo both flashed thumbs ups, and Chad nodded. He pulled out his cell phone. Beside him, Quatre had donned a pair of headphones and was typing rapidly at the keys. Hiirou was shaken from his observations as Duo rapped the back of his helmet, the noise ringing in his ears. He turned to snap at the youth but found a pair of serious amethyst eyes regarding him. "Put this on before you go." A headset was thrust into his hands and the braided young man stalked off, hands shoved deep into his pockets as he disappeared into the shadows.

"We've got a problem, mates. We can't seem to locate our decoy."

The men fell silent, and Chad sighed in frustration. "Look, I either need a volunteer or I call this thing off right now!"

As the group exchanged looks, Hiirou heard a familiar voice speak up. "I'll do it." His eyes shot to the owner of the voice, and he found Wufei volunteering, his car keys in one hand.

Chad grinned, an easy gesture, and nodded. "Good man."

"All right, Quatre. Where the hell am I going?"

The Chinese youth sighed explosively as he handled his car with practiced ease through the deserted streets of the city. If Meiran found out that he was using their family car to lure police away from illegal street races starring their own delivery boy... It sounded like a page out of a new action script, but it was his life. "Check your On Star monitor. It should be integrated into your dashboard?"

Wufei nodded, tilting the monitor so that he could look at it while driving. "I've hacked into your global positioning system to highlight the course. Start at the southern end and work your way east. I'll be with you on headset the whole time, okay?"

He'd only known Quatre for a grand total of three hours, but somehow the knowledge that the boy was a cellular line away made him feel a little bit more confident. He turned a corner, came upon a straight-away, and floored his engine.

Yet another boring night on duty for Zechs Merquise.

His job was becoming intolerable, and while it was quite a thrill to carry around a loaded gun in crowded places, his sergeant was insufferable. This was the fourth time this month he'd been stuck on the graveyard shift, and it was completely ridiculous. He'd been cruising the city for almost two hours without incident when he finally caught a break. His keen eyes noticed the blown tail light on the beat up old station wagon without effort, and he turned his sirens and lights on instantly.

Maybe he could meet his ticket quota for the month and go home...

"Shit!"

Duo cursed, hands clutching the steering wheel white-knuckled. He wasn't sure exactly what he'd been doing wrong, but the police cruiser was flying up on his ass faster than he could think. He checked his rearview mirror quickly, then pulled over to the side of the road, cradling his cheek in one hand, elbow propped up on his lowered window as he waited for the ticket. His night was getting exponentially worse. After the incident with Hiirou's attitude at the garage, he'd decided to steer clear of the Japanese youth. He wasn't so comfortable with this racing thing, anyway, though he wasn't about to mention that to the guys.

"Some time before Christmas, buddy," he grumbled, and pondered over the many ways to extract his revenge upon Hiirou Yui, because somehow this was his fault, as well.

* * *

Zechs whistled to himself cheerfully as he plucked up his radio and called in to report his pull. "0136 to dispatch, over. I've got a Code Six on West gate Street. It's just a lady with a blown tail light." He opened his door, standing and patting himself down for his flashlight.

The mechanic was now practically hanging out of the driver's side window of his station wagon, frowning down at the solid white line that separated the shoulder from the main road. The cop who'd pulled him was definately taking his sweet-assed time for practically having run him off of the damned road. The man was tall, lanky, with long platinum-blonde hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, and he was fumbling around for something.

Duo scoffed. "Fuckin' rookie," he mumbled, tapping idle fingertips against his steering wheel.

He'd located his flashlight under his seat, and was just going to approach the station wagon, when a blur of red motion went roaring down the street, slamming on brakes hard enough to leave smoking tire tracks on the pavement before casually flipping its turn signal on. The Celica made the turn onto the adjacent street at a safe speed, and then jetted down the road once more. Zechs could have laughed in delight. He jumped back into his squad car, grabbing his radio and turning on his lights and sirens once more.

"0136 to dispatch, cancel last order. I'm now in pursuit of a red Toyota Celica on Park East Avenue."

He shifted into fourth gear with an easy motion, chuckling as the Celica in his sights made another cautious turn. "Amatuer," he muttered.

Duo couldn't believe his luck.

The officer had finally seemed done primping and was just about to make his way over when a car that looked suspiciously familiar came barreling down West Gate, past the cruiser and his station wagon, and he'd laughed out loud as the cop decided that he was the lesser threat, hopped into his squad car, and taken off after Wufei.

He hit a button on the side of the slender headset he wore, and Quatre's voice came across the link. "Q, how in God's name did you guys sucker Eggroll into decoying?"

"Duo says thanks."

Wufei rolled his eyes at Quatre's amused voice, taking this next turn a little harder than the last, and he balked when he saw that the intersection ahead actually had lights, and his was red. He came to a stop just before the crosswalk, waiting. "For what, Quatre?"

His answer presented itself rather abruptly in the form of blue lights and wailing sirens. "Son of a ..." He exclaimed, as the white Chevrolet Camaro came to a screeching halt beside him at the stop light.

Zechs rolled his passenger-side window down, grinning lazily at the youth driving the Celica. The guy couldn't have been older than twenty-one, and he certainly didn't seem like a criminal. "...Dispatch to 0136. Officer requesting backup?"

He held the radio to his mouth, and decided to play a little game with this amateur racer. "Negative." He waved at the boy, forcing back a laugh as the Asian's eyes widened and his eyebrows shot up. "Backup not necessary."

Wufei was freaking out. There was no other way to express his thoughts in that moment. Not only had the police officer caught up with him, but he had waved and smiled. This was decidedly not good, and when the man put his radio down and revved his engine, the Chinese youth had felt like melting into the leather interior of his seat and disappearing. Had everyone in the city lost their damned minds?!

"I've got a problem," he spoke into the headset as calmly as possible. "There's a cop staring directly at me, Quatre, and I think he's challenging me."

There was an annoyed sigh from the other end of the line, and seemingly innocent Quatre seemed more comfortable in this element than Wufei felt. "That's the idea, dummy. Now make him chase you! You have to get him clear of the course."

Wufei groaned softly, still holding eye contact with the cop. "Why me?"

Zechs pumped his accelerator, well aware that he was probably flooding his engine. The risk was worth it, if for nothing else than to watch the Chinese youth beside him squirm. The fact that he could prolong the red light only made it more fun for him. The kid was probably just out for a good time, and Zechs was getting bored with him, anyway.

"0136 to dispatch. The subject got away from me. I lost him on the highway," he lied, staring at the nervous young man. "Over and out." He hung up the radio and waved the Celica on its way, changing the traffic light, when out of the corner of his peripheral vision, he saw a pair of headlights come up on his tail, and then what seemed like a single car's lights split up and went around he and the Toyota, diverging again in the intersection and speeding off. The Celica followed suite, peeling out and disappearing down Park East.

Zechs chuckled to himself, nodding. He had seen that silver bike before. It was the cycle from the other night, the one that had beat him to the highway. He drove casually through the intersection and sighed. Those bikes were up to something, and that Toyota couldn't have been a coincidence.

"Something's rotten in Maybury," he murmured, and tuned his radio out.

Hiirou pulled up into the service alley behind their checkpoint, waiting for his adversary, and removed his helmet. He'd won, again, and now the night's troubles seemed worth the outcome. Running a hand through his hair, he activated his headset. "Quatre, tell Chad that I'm clear."

The blonde relayed the message and he could hear the Irishman's smart-assed retort of, "Well, of course he is! I'm starin' at him on the bloody computer!" Wufei checked in moments later from a gas station up the street, and the other racer relayed that he'd fallen back and was now en route to his garage.

"Congratulations, Hiirou," came Quatre's sweet voice. "You're two grand richer."

He smiled, taking the time to sit back atop his bike and stretch, and he tapped the reciever again. "Duo?"

Hiirou waited, but the braided youth's rich voice didn't break the monotonous white noise filtering through his connection. "Duo?"

The mechanic lay atop the roof of his station wagon, and he listened to the random status reports over his headset. He heard Hiirou's clear, and he groaned. The guys thought that this was all fun and games, but it was so much more serious than that...

Maybe Hiirou thought that street racing was a good way to get his rocks off, or maybe he just believed that he had something to prove, but whatever his motives were for participating in this whole scheme, they weren't justifiable. Duo had thought it exciting at first, a break from his rigorous routine of working and bugging his neighbors, but over the past few weeks since he'd met the Japanese young man, he'd noticed some striking similarities between him and his late brother.

Hiirou and Solo were so alike that it scared him at times--that same stand-offish attitude, their stubborn demeanor, their dangerous pride...

"Duo?" He heard the delivery boy's voice filter over the headset, and he listened reluctantly. Hiirou was going to hurt him, and of this he was certain. At this stage of the game, losing him would leave a permanent scar. He was rude, and arrogant, and antisocial, but Duo couldn't help but want to protect him. It was the reason that he'd recruited Quatre to keep the cops off of them, why he was still acting as the team's mechanic. Anything that he could do to keep Hiirou out of immediate danger was his responsibility, but he couldn't tell the youth not to race.

_He isn't Solo. Just because you lost your brother doesn't necessarily mean that you'll lose Hiirou, too._

He wanted to listen to his common sense and rational mind, but fear was a powerful force in Duo's world. "Duo?" Why couldn't Hiirou just leave him out of this? Yeah, maybe it was his fault that all of this had started in the first place, but he wanted out. He couldn't sit by and watch another accident, another man that he loved sprawled across blood-stained asphalt...

"Fuck!"

The mechanic ripped his headset off, throwing it blindly to the ground, and curled up on his side atop the station wagon. "I don't love Hiirou." He was trying to convince himself of this even as the Japanese boy's voice called to him over the line, cutting through miles of static to greet only interference. As the rest of his team celebrated yet another victory under their belts, Duo pleaded with a higher force to make a retrospect switch that couldn't be made.

A hawk is a term that I made up for the guys they have on the roofs keeping track of each racer's progress. In later chapters these positions will be eliminated in favor of GPS and digital monitoring.

* * *

0335AMEST29Oct04


	6. Maximum Pulse Chapter Six

**Title: Maximum Pulse**  
Author: _Switchblade003 Sanyu-Kumiko (Collaboration)_  
Chapter: Bar Room Brawls  
Status: Complete; open to revision, actual ending subject to co-author's consideration.

* * *

The Changs had given him the day off to work on his bike's new paint job.

Wufei had given him a warning look when they'd gotten back to the house earlier that morning, and Hiirou knew that he didn't want his wife knowing about his participation. The Chinese youth had told him about the run-in with the police officer, and he'd even admitted to getting a thrill out of it, but Hiirou had sworn not to breathe a word of it in his wife's presence. Something told the Japanese boy that Meiran would have volunteered for decoy, too.

When he pulled up in front of the garage, he noticed that the main door was closed, and he thought that a bit odd. Stranger still was the fact that the twin rottweilers were roaming the lot freely, where Duo normally tied them up in the back so that they wouldn't eat his clientele. There was a 'Closed' sign on the building, and upon sight of this Hiirou sat back on his motorcycle, frowning. Why would the garage be closed on a Thursday?

Wufei had informed him over a boiling pot of lo mein that today was Duo's birthday, and that he had completely forgotten this year, in lieu of recent events. Now he felt like shit. Hiirou had only known the guy for a month or two, tops, but he still felt the need to at least say 'hi'. Duo had to be twenty-one, today...

He circled the downtown area for more than an hour before it occurred to him that he had absolutely no clue what the mechanic did in his off-time, therefore he had no leads in tracking the American down. "Dammit!"

And just as Hiirou was turning around to head home, a sign on the side of West Gate caught his eye, and he could have slapped himself. The archaic road marker was probably as old as the city itself, but he could still make out the name of the cemetary engraved there. "Rosewood," he murmured to himself.

If today was Duo's birthday, then that meant that _Solo_ was twenty-one, too. Hiirou felt his gut clench up. As morbid as he was certain that Duo could be, somehow he just couldn't entertain the idea of the American having a birthday party with his dead twin brother.

"...I really think Wufei should lighten up, sometimes, bro. You remember how he was..."

When Hiirou finally located his quarry, he found the boy sprawled out on his back beside a headstone. His long hair was drawn up in a sloppy ponytail, and he was dressed in jeans and a tee-shirt. He looked like a normal kid for his age, but somehow Hiirou knew that he wasn't. There was a bottle of whiskey next to him, and a half-eaten cupcake, and atop the tombstone lay another, completely untouched. The scene might have been humorous had it not been for the candid tone of Duo's voice, the way he laughed at dead air as if actually conversing with someone...

Hiirou held a few mutinous tears in check. It wouldn't have hurt as much to witness if Duo had been sobbing, or grieving like any normal person who had lost a relative or loved one. This behavior... Well, it was bizarre, to say the least, but it was also gut-wrenching. For the longest minute of his life, the delivery boy stood in the shadow of a family and tried to think of something to say.

"What the hell're you doin' here?!"

He watched, speechless, as Duo scrambled to his feet, stumbling slightly from mild inebriation, and glared at him. "I... I wanted to say 'Happy Birthday'," was all that he could force out, and he felt very stupid afterwards.

Duo sighed, shaking his head. "Well, I guess you two would have to meet, eventually." He walked over, tugging at Hiirou's arm, and drug him towards the tombstone. "Hiirou, meet Solo," he slurred, gesturing vaguely at the carved grey marble. "Bro, this is that asshole from the restaurant that I was telling you about."

If he hadn't felt so genuinely depressed, Hiirou might have slapped the braided youth for that warranted insult.

"Sit down," Duo ordered, and he complied without thinking. The American took to his bottle again, leaning back against the headstone and sighing heavily. "I'm sure you want to know what happened?" he prodded, and Hiirou nodded. Duo let his head fall back onto the cold marble with a sickening crack, and mindless of the pain he'd just inflicted upon himself, he began to recount the story.

"Remember I told you that Solo used to race? He died in a crash four years ago. He was the best in the desert circuit, until that asshole and his BMW showed up..."

Hiirou frowned. "BMW?"

The smile on Duo's face was both accusatory and hateful. "Yeah. Real arrogant jock. He picked a fight with me at the shop one day, said I fucked his bike up. My brother told him to back off, but I thought I could take him. I challenged him to a race on the two-mile course, but my bike 'broke down' a few days beforehand..."

Maybe it was the fact that Duo was a very honest drunk, or maybe it was the atmosphere, but Hiirou was beginning to see a whole new side of his braided counterpart, and he wasn't entirely sure that he liked it. "I found out later that I had actually messed up the guy's bike. And Solo had sabatoged my Katana on purpose, to keep me out of the race." Hiirou took a moment to realize that he would have done the same thing, and he was growing an appreciation for his friend's late twin. "My brother took up the challenge on my behalf. If he hadn't died that day I would have beaten the shit out of him for it."

The violet eyes facing skyward weren't angry or upset, but more confused than anything. It was almost as if Duo hadn't yet completely accepted what had happened to his brother, like he was waiting for Solo to turn up and tell him it had all been a prank. "There was a big break in the pavement on Highway 17. The fuckin' transportation department paved the road over a fault line or somethin', and every time we have a tremor the stupid thing splits in half, so about ten years ago they condemned the road and built a new one. Apparently, it's the best racing strip in the state."

Duo took a long swig from the bottle in his hand and hissed as the alcohol burned his throat, then continued. "That jerk," he spat, "Knew about the break. Everyone did. It was a fuckin' seven foot-wide trench in the middle of the highway!" The mechanic scrubbed furiously at his eyes with the back of one hand, hard anger and malice lacing his normally smooth tenor. "They got within sight of it, and Solo was winning. I watched it..."

The braided youth bounded to his feet, surprisingly agile for how drunk he must have been, and threw the bottle to the ground. His fists clenched at his sides and Hiirou suddenly regretted inviting this trip down 'memory lane.' "Solo started to slow down. The race was over, and he'd won, but that prick wouldn't settle for being bested by a downtown streetrat like my brother, so he floored it. He gunned his engine, and he made for the break. Solo followed him. He didn't have enough time to get up to speed."

Hiirou almost cringed at the idea. From rough mental calculation he could only imagine the outcome of that event. "That asshole cleared the break. Solo didn't. His back tire clipped the edge and his bike flipped. It landed on top of him." Duo turned to his friend, fists at his sides, fingernails digging in so hard that thin lines of blood ran from their grip, and the tears that flowed from his enraged violet eyes were the kind that only bone-cutting loss could inspire. He was more than sober. "He was gone before the medics got there. And that son-of-a-bitch drove off, left him there to die..."

The agonized amethyst gaze turned away, and Hiirou drew in a shaky breath. He wasn't sure that he was the person to help Duo move past this, but he knew that their current location was definately not the environment for more jovial spirits. "Duo?"

When the youth didn't respond to his name, the delivery boy ground his teeth together in frustration. He had never been very adept at handling his own emotions, let alone other people's... He stood and walked to the boy's side, laying a hand on his shoulder and compelling him to turn around. "C'mon, it's your birthday. I'm sure that your brother would have wanted you to have fun on your twenty-first birthday."

The American sighed, turning to regard him curiously. "I guess." He shook his head, self-deprecatingly, and shrugged. "Let's go somewhere."

Hiirou allowed himself to smile a little. Just this once. "Where?"

A mischevious grin took over the other boy's features. "I know a place."

It had been nearly two hours since their arrival, and after almost ten games of pool, half a dozen beers into Duo, and three into his own system, Hiirou was feeling much... lighter. He was definately buzzed--not enough to shed his inhibitions, but enough to make him stumble every now and again--and the birthday boy was well on his way to having a horrid hangover the next morning. However, his braided friend seemed much more content, now, and that was what mattered.

The bar that Duo had directed him to was an obscure little establishment wedged between the downtown police precinct and the library, and it catered to a very lively crowd. He hadn't been surprised that Duo knew the barkeep, as well as a few of the regulars, and the boy seemed to fit in here. The other patrons were very friendly, and they'd been having fun since their arrival.

Hiirou Yui did not normally participate in 'fun', but he'd allowed an exception tonight, and he made a mental note to remind his mechanic of that the next time he popped off with a smart-assed comment about his being an 'asshole'. Maybe it was the atmosphere, the occassion, or the three empty Triple Black bottles on the side of the pool table, but Hiirou decided that he was having a good time. He sat back on his barstool and watched Duo from across the table as the youth lined up for his shot. The lighting was deplorable, all low-hanging table lamps and emergency exits, and the thick cloud of cigarette smoke that hung in the air did nothing to ease his vision, but Hiirou liked the place. It was yards of cherrywood finish, vintage World War Two paraphenalia, and eighties music filtering through the background noise of clinking glass, laughing patrons, and the occassional clunk of the cue ball bouncing across the hardwood floors.

"Yo, Hiirou."

His glassy Prussian gaze turned to his counterpart, who was still trying to align his shot. It was amusing to no end, because as drunk as the American might have been, he was still winning. The younger of the two held a cigarette between his teeth and arched an eyebrow at his friend. "Eight ball, corner pocket." Hiirou scanned the table, and decided that he was still safe. Duo had the trajectory on the bank all wrong. Sure enough, the cue missed, and the mechanic cursed violently, stalking back to his seat.

The Japanese youth noticed that he was having a hard time _not_ keeping his eyes on Duo. For some reason, he was picking up on things that he otherwise hadn't seen before in his companion, and it was troubling him. He was watching the way the boy lanked around the table, the way he leaned on his pool stick idly, the way he dragged on his cigarettes, and it was unnerving. His solution at first to this stunning realization had been alcohol, but it wasn't working very well. He was almost certain that the other male wasn't trying to hit on him, but with Duo one couldn't be too sure. The boy was sloshed, after all.

Zechs frequented this bar a lot, these days. It was almost as loved as the diner on Ivy Street, and he found himself here every other night. He'd never been a real heavy drinker but the scene was pleasant enough. He parked his Celica out front and locked the car behind him, and he was halfway up the steps when something silver, half-primered, and familiar caught his eye. Upon closer inspection, the cop realized that he was looking at the bike from those damned street races he'd witnessed. He cackled evilly to himself, racing down the stairs, pulling a notebook and pen from his jacket pocket, and copied down the tags.

"Well, Mr. Nevada 8708, I'll be looking _you_ up in my system tomorrow..."

"Would ya look at this, guys! It's the delivery boy!"

Whatever pleasant thoughts had been dancing around in Hiirou's mind shattered like porcelain in the hands of a toddler as a few annoyingly familiar voices cut through the amiable background noise of the bar, and he was sorely tempted to turn around and deck the first person he saw. Instead, Hiirou decided to play the bigger man and feign ignorance.

"Hey, he brought his bitch, too!"

_What is with these guys?!_ Hiirou's tested patience snapped at that last comment, and he stood, hiding his impaired motor abilities with ease, and turned to face the men. It was half of the uptown garage's gang, including the man he'd raced the previous night. The black male was taller than him by at least four inches and outweighed him by a good fifty pounds. He should have been intimidated, but he wasn't. The men could trash-talk him as much as they wanted, but Duo hadn't done anything to warrant this kind of badgering.

"Can I help you?"

Hiirou was feeling a little cocky. As calm and rational a guy as he was most of the time, he really didn't see the point in taking shit off of these jerks, anymore. The garage members all laughed. "I'm sorry, but I don't remember saying anything funny."

Apparently that had been the wrong thing to say. The black guy that he'd shown up last night stepped forward, glaring down at him, and his friends formed a circle around Hiirou. Among their number was Blondie, as well as the asshole redhead that had manhandled his mechanic. "Buddy, you don't want to pick a fight with us."

"And why's that?" Hiirou wasn't going to throw the first punch. He made a promise to himself right then, that any move he made would be out of pure self-defense, but he would try his best to instigate it. He'd been dying to run into these bastards in public, and here was his moment.

"Keep talkin', Rice. You'd better get your little boyfriend and carry your faggot asses to another bar. This place isn't friendly to your type." That was almost clever, he decided. These guys still needed a little refining on the bully act, though. From behind the redhead, he heard the sound of a pool stick hitting the floor, and then Duo was pushing his way through the men, shouting.

"What the hell's goin' on?"

Hiirou sighed. Leave it to the American idiot to present himself as a completely vulnerable target within a group of vultures.

"Keep your hands to yourself, fag," one of the men bellowed, and Duo had the decency to look a bit offended. He pulled his hands in to himself and backed slowly towards Hiirou. They stood back to back in the circle of angry uptowners and assessed their situation.

"They don't look too chipper," Duo drawled, arching an eyebrow at the redhead. Hiirou was slightly grateful that the mechanic was sober enough to make that observation. He stared down Blondie while racking his brain for a way out of this mess.

"Captain Obvious strikes again," he mumbled. "We're fucked, Duo." The garage members traded smug grins as they closed in, and then a loud, commanding voice put the whole bar on pause.

"Break it up, boys! _Now_!" Hiirou saw a tall man with blonde hair push through their ring of would-be attackers, grabbing two of the men by the backs of their collars and forcibly dispersing them.

"He looks pretty damed familiar..."

Behind him, Duo stumbled and grabbed at his belt, almost pulling Hiirou down with him as he attempted to right himself. When he looked back up from grumbling at the American, the guy who had broken up their 'fanclub' was looming over him.

"You two don't look old enough to be here," was all he said as he drug the two boys from the bar.

"So you're telling me that you weren't trying to start any trouble in there?"

Hiirou was working on his last shred of patience with this police officer. The guy had been interrogating him for the last ten minutes. He'd proven he and Duo's age, convinced the cop that he wasn't going to try to drive home, and then insisted that the men who had confronted him were just a few random guys that he'd had a bad experience with on his delivery runs. The less that the police knew about the tension between him and the uptown garage, the better.

The alcohol had burned out of his system almost completely by now, though it seemed to have gotten the better of his companion, who now lay passed out on the gravel, slumped against his bike. When the officer had taken them outside, he had asked a few questions about the vehicle, and he seemed as if there was something else he was itching to inquire about, but otherwise he seemed more interested in the almost-brawl back in the bar.

Something about his interest in the Hayabasu just didn't sit well with Hiirou, though.

"All right, well if you think you'll be okay, just grab a cab and be on your way. I'll have the owner of the bar put your bike out back. You can pick it up tomorrow, okay?"

Hiirou nodded, turning to the unconscious boy at his feet, and sighed. Hauling the mechanic up, he waited for a taxi to pass by. Tonight hadn't been a total waste, he supposed, and the more he looked at Duo, the more he believed that.

0235AMEST30Oct04

* * *

Alternate Ending for Chapter Six

There were at least six guys around them, and the only way to get to the front door of the bar was to go through them. It was a split-second decision, but Hiirou didn't hesitate. He lunged for the redhead, sidestepping a reflexive punch and throwing his elbow up into the underside of the man's chin. His victim shouted in pain, stumbling backwards, and then Blondie was on him. They wrestled around the pool table, throwing punches, ducking and dodging, until the man finally got in a hit, socking Hiirou in the stomach hard enough to knock the wind out of him. The Japanese youth paused to gain his bearings for a moment before tackling the blonde to the floor.

The entire bar had ceased its activities to watch the fight, and the other garage jerks were preoccupied fighting down a rather fiesty, alcohol-filled Duo as their ex-leader slugged it out with Hiirou. As the delivery boy landed another well-placed punch to the blonde's face, someone stepped forward from the crowd and restrained him from behind, dragging him bodily off of the other male and shoving him towards the front door of the bar.

In the hazy aftermath of his adrenaline rush, he vaguely registered hearing Duo mumble something about 'slow-assed police officers'.

"...The _only_ reason you two aren't spending the night in jail is because I know you didn't start that..."

For some reason his buzz had worn off, and that annoyed Hiirou greatly. He sat outside on the sidewalk of the bar, and as Officer Merquise ranted, he felt like he had as a child being disciplined in Catholic school. Beside him, Duo had passed out minutes ago, and he silently willed his anger at being yelled at singularly towards the braided idiot. When the boy twitched in his sleep, Hiirou was convinced that it was working.

"...I'm calling you a cab, and I'll have the owner of the bar throw that bike of yours behind the building over night. When you've sobered up, you can come pick it up, all right?"

Hiirou looked up when he realized that he'd been addressed, and he nodded. Officer Merquise was giving him an unreadable, look, the kind that sent red flags and whistles going off in his head, and the more paranoid part of his mind wondered for a moment if somehow that police officer had any idea that his bike had been involved in some very illegal activities, recently. Hiirou wasn't the type to take his situations for granted, but it was a big city. The likelihood of this particular officer having seen his bike, and then remembering exact details of its physical appearance at that high a speed... He decided to pass it off as being too paranoid and a little drunk.

The cop sighed, shaking his head, and gestured at Duo. "Is he going to be okay?"

The delivery boy rolled his eyes, standing and hauling the mechanic upright. "He'll be fine. He won't die. Trust me, I've tried." The officer laughed, walking towards his car.

"Okay. Get some rest."

The taxi pulled into the parking lot, and after shoving Duo inside, he gave their address as the restaurant and sat back for the ride.

Zechs couldn't believe his luck. Not only had he gotten the tags off of that bike, but after he'd seen its owner off, he'd meandered around the parking lot, and he was beginning to recognize quite a few of these bikes. There was a blue Ninja, and a black Katana that he could swear that he'd seen tailing the Hayabasu, and they were all in the same damned parking lot!

He sat on the back of his car and tapped his pen against his mouth thoughtfully, notebook in hand. This couldn't have been a coincidence. And that fight in the bar also supported his new convictions; it would stand to reason that the brawl had started over petty testosterone-fueled comments, but the underlying tension there had to have something to do with these street races.

Rival gangs, maybe?

He frowned, and scratched that idea out of his notebook. No, these kids didn't seem like the gang type, although he was certain that the Chinese kid he'd seen the other night hadn't been a criminal... Well, maybe he hadn't been. Maybe...

"No fucking way!"

Zechs jumped off of the tail-end of his Celica, pacing the parking lot. That kid had been a decoy! He'd read about it in the police academy. Nevada and California were notorious for their organized underground, and one of the highest-payout endeavors in the illegal spectrum was racing! The blonde could have slapped himself for missing it this whole time. That would explain the cars peeling through the city, and then the bikes right behind them. They were supposed to lure the cops--_him_--away from those streets to clear the way for the motorcycles.

He chewed on the end of his pen some more. How many kids were involved in this? Was he looking at something structured, a serious crime ring, or was this just a group of teenagers fucking around? And would he get lucky enough to ctach their next race?

"Shit..."

The only problem was that now he had a shitload more questions than answers, but Zechs was a curious guy. He'd get to the bottom of this. He had definately stumbled onto something big here, and it all came back to that Japanese kid and his Hayabasu.

0444PMEST30Oct04

* * *

Sanyu-Kumiko Note: Okay, I don't know what ending I like so, how about a vote??! ;; Help a boy out!


	7. Maximum Pulse Chapter Seven

**Title: Maximum Pulse**  
Author: _Switchblade003 Sanyu-Kumiko (Collaboration)_  
Chapter 7: Pretty Braided Bedbugs  
Status: Complete; open to revision.

* * *

Something was snoring like a buzzsaw, and it wasn't him.

Hiirou groaned, rolling over and slapping blindly at his alarm clock, and after he pulled his head out from under his pillow he realized that the noise wasn't coming from his nightstand. It was coming from the other side of his head, and he rolled over to investigate. In the mid-morning sunlight shoving its way through his closed windows, he found himself staring at the sleeping countenance of his best friend.

Under normal circumstances, he probably would have pushed the boy out of his bed and then demanded upon pain of death that he leave immediately, but after he remembered what had happened the night before, he decided that it might not hurt to let him sleep a little bit longer. Once the idiot woke up, he'd yell at him for not being able to hold his liquor, but for now, he was content to watch him sleep.

"Hiirou, you're losing your edge," he muttered to himself, and then sighed. Hugging his pillow under him, he lay in the warmth of his sheets and mused on the past few days. His life had been growing steadily more complicated, and while he wasn't all too comfortable with that, there wasn't entirely much that he could do to stop it. That was the wonder of having friends, he supposed.

His relationship with the Changs was pretty simple. He worked for them, and in exchange they gave him money and a place to sleep at night. He was closer to Wufei than Meiran, but that probably had something to do with their similar personalities. Quatre was pretty much the same. He'd only known the kid for a few days, and while he seemed genuinely kind, he hadn't earned Hiirou's trust yet.

Duo, on the other hand...

He'd spent so long constructing walls around himself, barricades so high and thick that most people gave up after a while, and while he'd been so preoccupied trying to keep Meiran and Wufei and the girls out of his heart, Duo had managed to chip away at his shields and slip in undetected. When he'd shown up, he hadn't regarded the boy as a threat, really. His biggest and perhaps best mistake had been in underestimating the power of stupidity.

The mechanic was the complication, he supposed. There was so much tension between them--personally, professionally, sexually... Most of the time he could ignore the American, or pretend that he wasn't listening to his inane chatter, but there were times like yesterday when he wanted to listen, wanted to help. Hiirou, however, was very aware of his shortcomings, and they included basic interactions with others. As much as he wanted to be an emotional support for Duo at times, he knew that the mechanic was going to need someone a lot more expressive and outwardly sympathetic than himself.

That knowledge bothered him. As he watched the boy's chest rise and fall under his sheet, he frowned. "What are you doing to me?" he murmured, and he almost expected the youth to answer. When Duo failed to repond, Hiirou frowned.

Physical affection was another of his shortcomings. He could hit people easily, lash out in anger or defense, shout and curse, but being gentle with someone... He'd probably never hugged another person since his parents had died five years ago. It wasn't something that he was naturally inclined to do, and it was frustrating. He had hormones, and impulses, thoughts, just like any of his peers. Hiirou's problem was in acting upon them.

The Japanese youth rolled onto his stomach, propping himself up on his hands over the boy in his bed, and he gazed down at Duo silently. His ponytail had come undone sometime over the course of last night, and his long chestnut-brown hair was everywhere, contrasting against the immaculate white of Hiirou's sheets, practically glowing in the renegade sunlight that had snuck in through the mini-blinds. He had long eyelashes, as well, and Hiirou wondered briefly it was a coincidence. He cocked his head to the side, studying the boy. Duo was so much more aesthetically pleasing while sleeping. His words took attention away from his features, and it was a shame.

The mechanic was really a handsome guy. His features, despite outward suggestion, weren't too effiminate. Duo was about as masculine as they came, but he still retained some random and unplacable boyish qualities that caught Hiirou's eye, and held it. He didn't bother trying to stop himself from running his fingers down the side of the American's face, or tracing the still contours of his lips. It was a rare opportunity that Duo held still for this long, and he was going to take advantage of it.

About ten minutes into his physical exploration of his friend, something loud echoed up from the kitchen, and the boy jumped in his sleep. Hiirou froze. Then, without delay, one irritated violet eye squinted open, and after a moment of focusing, Duo groaned loudly. "Please tell me that I didn't get drunk and have sex with you."

Hiirou stifled a laugh. He had expected anything but that odd comment. "You didn't get drunk and have sex with me," he reassured, monotone, and Duo chuckled, his voice low and thick with drowsiness. He reached up with both arms and slung them lazily around Hiirou's bare waist, pulling the other youth down on top of him.

"Good," he mumbled, burying his face in the side of the delivery boy's neck to escape the sunlight. Hiirou decided that he sounded half-disappointed. "But I did get drunk." After a few minutes of silence, he peeked up from his hiding place to look at his comrade. "I have a brilliant hangover, right now," he announced.

It was Hiirou's turn to chuckle. "Serves you right. You drank enough to kill a small kindergarten class."

Duo shrugged weakly, yawning, then wincing at the motion. "Don't whisper so loud. It hurts."

"You sound pathetic," Hiirou breathed into his ear, watching the volume of his voice, and buried a hand in the boy's thick hair, rubbing circles into his scalp. Duo relaxed underneath him, and he propped his chin up on one hand, mulling over the events of the past evening.

He remembered the garage assholes showing up and ruining his night. He recounted punching a few people, and then that damned cop. And he was struck with something that he'd heard Duo mumble, about 'slow-assed cops'...

"Duo, do you remember anything that happened last night?" It was a long shot, but he had nothing else to go on.

The mechanic frowned, arching into his touch subtley. "Yeah, I 'member gettin' into a fight with the bastards from uptown..." he trailed off, and Hiirou prompted him with a nudge. "And that cop. I think I've seen him before."

So he did remember the illustrious Officer Merquise. "Hey, wait a minute." The American's eyes sprang open, and he hissed as the light hit them, squeezing them closed once more. "That's the same damned cop that pulled me over and then took off after Wufei at the last race."

Recognition hit Hiirou like a ton of bricks. That cop was the same one that had tailed him during his second race. He hadn't been reading too much into it! That asshole had his tags, his make and model, and a physical description of both he and Duo...

The delivery boy slammed his fist into the pillow beside his friend's head and groaned. They were so royally fucked.

"Duo, we've got a serious problem on our hands."

* * *

0334AMEST30Oct04 


	8. Maximum Pulse Chapter Eight

Title: Maximum Pulse

Chapter: Deja Vu

Status: Complete; open to revision

"No, Duo! I'm going to get my bike, _now_."

Whatever reassurances the American had been trying to give him were falling on deaf ears. All that he was interested in right now was getting down to that bar and making damned sure that his bike was all right. Hiirou practically galloped down the stairs, his mechanic friend hot on his heels, and he got as far as the front door of the restaurant when a commanding voice got his attention. "Hiirou, wait." Both young men stopped, and when the Japanese male turned he found Wufei in the doorway, an anxious-looking Quatre behind him. "Before you go rushing out, you should probably take a look at this."

For the first time in a long time, the delivery boy was actually a little hesitant. He locked his eyes on Wufei's as he approached, trying hard not to look down at the plain cardboard box in the Chinese youth's hands. "What is it?" he asked, quietly. Half of him wanted the other boy to lie to him. He was fairly certain that he knew what was in there.

Quatre stepped forward, taking the box from Wufei and upturning it onto the dining room floor. Out clattered the tags to Hiirou's bike and an envelope. The Japanese youth hissed angrily, burying his face in his hands and gritting his teeth together. He walked a little ways back into the restaurant. Behind him, Duo sighed and bent to retrieve the plates, and he turned the card over skeptically. With the other two boys watching from over his shoulders, he opened the envelope and pulled out a rather tacky Easter card. Inside lay a polaroid photograph of the Hayabasu and yet another map. It was an outlined course, complete with a starting time and date. "Meet us at the location on the map, and you're gonna race our newest member. Win and you get your crotch rocket back. Lose and you leave town," he read. Blue, violet, and black looked up from the scribbled message, to the Japanese youth now standing frighteningly still in the middle of Chinatown's dining room. "Hiirou?"

Quatre and Wufei remained silent, the blonde chewing his lip and his Asian counterpart looking to him for some plan of action. Duo wasn't sure that he could conjure up something reassuring to say to his friend. He stepped forward, handing off the materials to his companions and approaching the delivery boy slowly. Hiirou's lean frame was taught, and he seemed ready to lash out at the first thing that threatened him. It was like watching a wild animal backed into a corner, and he wasn't really too keen on taking the hit, but he laid a careful hand on the boy's shoulder. When Hiirou didn't make a move to strike, he felt a bit more comfortable, and he slid both arms around the youth's tense shoulders, laying his cheek to the back of Hiirou's neck and fumbling for words.

"You can get your bike back, Hiirou."

The boy chuckled, and it was enough to set Duo's hair on end. It was deep, and spiteful, and full of a contained rage. "How?"

The mechanic thought for a moment. "Race them for it."

"On what?" Now he sounded annoyed.

"I-I'm not sure..." Duo was starting to get pretty uncomfortable. He'd never seen this side of his friend, and he prayed he'd never see it again. His voice was cold, apathetic, and he thanked the higher powers that he couldn't look Hiirou in the eye at the moment. "Hiirou, it'll be okay--"

The hit sent him flying back at least three feet.

He wasn't even sure how the boy had gotten out from his hold so fast, but he was now standing over the braided youth, fists at his sides. "No!" He shouted at the other brunette. "No, Maxwell! It's fucking over! They won! I can't race them for it without another bike, and I can't go to the fucking cops, because they already know about us! It's _over_!" The last word was a scream, and Hiirou started towards the front door once again.

Wufei and Quatre were standing, shocked, beside Duo, who was pulling himself up off of the floor, clutching his side, and then the mechanic vaulted across the room and tackled Hiirou bodily to the floor. "You stupid son-of-a-bitch!" He pinned the Japanese youth to the floor and growled down at him. "You're not quitin' that easy, damn it! Where'd the stubborn, competitive Hiirou go, huh? Where's that asshole that was talkin' trash at the bar last night?" He released the other boy's wrists and punched him across the face, and Quatre gasped, Wufei cringing at the sickening sound of bones cracking under flesh. "_What did you do with my fuckin' friend_?!"

Hiirou lay under the braided boy, staring up at him unresponsively. The mechanic was breathing shakily with anger, his teeth clenched, and his violet eyes were furious, and it sobered Hiirou up. The sound of the American's normally articulate and laconic voice cracking in rage was enough to snap him back into reality, and he frowned. "Duo..." He trailed off, and settled for letting his head fall to the floor in surrender. Duo was right; he had to get his bike back...

Quatre and Wufei made a stealthy retreat into the kitchen, and the two boys found themselves alone in the dining room, their anger and frustration looming vigils in the background. They sat in silence for a while, until Hiirou finally worked up the nerve to speak. "I shouldn't have hit you."

Above him, the mechanic snorted wryly, clearly unamused. "That was a shitty apology, and I refuse to say 'sorry'. You fuckin' deserved that."

For once, he couldn't argue with the idiot's logic.

"...No one's touched it in almost five years, but it runs great..."

Hiirou touched a tentative hand to the tender area of his jaw, wincing as the abused skin and bone ached in response. That hit was definately going to leave a magnificent bruise... He followed Duo to the back of the garage, and watched as the boy struggled to tug an oversized tarp off of some random vehicle that was remotely motorcycle-shaped. After a few seconds of struggling, the tarp lay on the floor, and Hiirou was looking at a Suzuki Katana. It was a beautiful bike. "Duo, where did you get this?" He moved closer, eyes raking over the black and white paint, the iron cross graphics skillfully crafted into the design, and then he saw the number one written across the back in kanji. "Oh."

Duo gave him a forced half-smile. "Yeah. This is Solo's old bike."

The two boys stood side by side, gazing at the Katana in the midafternoon sunlight, and when Hiirou broke the silence, his voice was quiet and reserved. "I owe you," he murmured, and Duo looked over at him, arms folded across his shirt, and gave him a small, genuine smile.

"If you act more like the guy I woke up next to this morning and less like yourself, then we'll call it even."

Azure blue eyes glanced over at the mechanic, assessing. "Are you going to be okay with me riding your brother's bike?"

It was a valid question. Hiirou could only begin to imagine the psychological impact it would have on his friend to watch him race the bike that took his twin brother's life, and it wasn't pretty. He wasn't even sure that he was comfortable handling it, but he had to get his Hayabasu back.

Beside him, Duo kicked at the ground a little, giving Hiirou a quick sideways glance, and then he turned back to the Katana. For a moment, the Japanese youth was certain that he wasn't going to respond, but then the boy reached out and took his chin in one hand, turning his head to gain eye contact. Duo took a step towards him and paused. "Yeah," he nodded, and while they both knew that he was lying, it was left unspoken. Hiirou was a little distracted by how expressive the boy's amaryllis eyes were at this close a distance to even argue. He was even more thrown-off when Duo pulled his head forward a little roughly and pressed their lips together.

The mechanic's mouth was warm to the touch, and the contact was brief, but when he pulled back Hiirou felt as if he'd suddenly lost something that he'd only recently discovered. He didn't like that feeling. Before he could even make a comment or react at all, Duo had turned on his heel and was walking out of the garage, leaving Hiirou and the Katana behind. He got as far as the 'lobby' when he stopped, his back to the other boy, and sighed. "Just don't die on me."

0226AMEST01Nov04

The race started in less than five minutes.

Hiirou had already been checked out by the 'Jet' mechanic, and he was adjusting the tack on Solo's Katana beside his new challenger. The other youth was tall, and his bike was the first European model that the Japanese youth had raced thus far. It was a green BMW, and he wasn't too sure about what kind of performance he could expect from it. He'd only seen one other bike like it.

The delivery boy readjusted the ventilation ducts on the helmet that he was wearing for what had to have been the hundredth time in the last half hour. The damned thing was a snug fit, and he wasn't used to it yet. Duo had handed it to him, along with the keys to the bike, without a word, and Hiirou had simply assumed the worst. This was Solo's, as well. It wasn't nearly as creepy as he had thought that it might have been, to be racing in a helmet that he _knew_ another boy had died in. For some reason it was almost as reassuring as Duo's presence was, and he couldn't explain it.

"Guys, I just want you to know that this whole damned thing is not sittin' well with me."

With a nod, Hiirou turned to acknowledge that familiar voice, and behind him stood Chad, a pair of bright yellow goggles holding his hair in check, and he seemed pretty pissed off. "Do your best, Hiirou," he mumbled, distracted, and wandered off in Quatre's general direction. The blonde was setting up shop on an abandoned billboard display on the side of the road, and he'd already done a check on Hiirou's new headset. He'd be able to communicate with the radio tech throughout the entire race. A part of the team as always, Wufei had gone to race his Celica down the course outlined on the map, but the other garage had stopped him. They were waiting to find out why.

Duo had been exceptionally quiet since their arrival. The mechanic was leaning against the side of Hiirou's bike now, silent, arms folded across his chest and brooding. It wasn't characteristic of the boy, but the Japanese youth knew better by now than to press the issue. If Duo wanted to be quiet, Hiirou wasn't going to argue. He could understand the problems now plaguing his friend. He settled for being a silent support, checking his tack again, and every now and then he'd brush the back of one gloved hand over Duo's arm, tug lightly on the end of his braid. He was honestly hoping to inadvertantly get the boy to talk, but it didn't seem to be working.

"Listen up, faggots."

The boys turned to the collectively-loathed face of the blonde man whom Hiirou had first raced, and beside him, Duo tensed up. "I outlined the course on the map. I trust that everyone did their homework?" he snickered, and his friends laughed.

Wufei was the first to step up, and the Chinese boy was angry. "Cut the shit, pal. Why wasn't I allowed to decoy? We don't need any more problems with the cops."

Arching an eyebrow, the former garage leader gestured towards the map in his hands. "I guess they don't know, guys."

Patience worn way past thin, Wufei blew up. "Don't know _what_?!" The boy seemed ready to swing at the blonde when Duo finally stepped away from the Katana, hands stuffed into his pockets, his baseball cap pulled down over his eyes.

"This is the Highway 17 course," he stated, his voice flat, dead. "We don't need a decoy, because this highway is closed to through traffic. The cops don't come down here."

Blondie clapped. "Well, _someone_ knows his stuff." He unfolded his map. "You two will race down this course. It's a straight shot, a few turns here and there, but other than that it's simple and clean."

Hiirou mulled this over, but something didn't sit right with him. The mechanic beat him to the punch, though. "Except the fucking fifteen-foot ditch at the end of it, you asshole!" He snatched the map, pulled a pen out of his pocket, and drew a thick black line across the road where the break was. "Forget about that?"

Rolling his eyes, the blonde sighed. "Of course not. If they want to complete the course, they jump it." His eyes narrowed at the braided youth and he pushed past him. "Go do your damned job and check out our prodigy's bike."

Duo growled, bristling under his hooded sweatshirt, and shoved the blonde out of his way, kneeling down beside the green BMW. Hiirou's bike had already been cleared, and Quatre had checked in with him on his headset to test the connection, so he hunched over the frame of the Katana, shifting his weight. Duo worked in silence for almost three minutes before standing to his full height. Blondie was talking something over with the redhead from his garage, and Quatre, Wufei, and Chad were engaged in a heated discussion atop that billboard. When a strong pair of slender arms wound around his waist from behind, he quelled the urge to strike and turned to glance over his shoulder at Duo. "Are you okay?"

The American shrugged, catching his eyes. "Promise me somethin', Hiirou?" With those beautiful violet eyes on him, Hiirou would have agreed to virtually anything. He nodded and waited. "When this is over, promise me that I can come home with you and Wufei." The Japanese boy nodded, and Duo seemed satisfied. He stood and rapped Hiirou's helmet gently.

"All right, let's get this over with. I'm tired of watchin' these fairies..." Blondie stepped between the two bikes, and Hiirou watched over his shoulder as the youth lit a cigarette, pulling his cap back down. "On my signal." As he began to count down from ten--a little too theatrically--the youth on the BMW turned around, flipping his visor up.

"Holy shit..." Duo murmured as he gazed at the youth's green eyes. He froze. Then the youth turned around, slapped his visor down, and revved his engine. Both bikes were gone before Duo came back to himself.

_I have to jump that fucking ditch on Solo's bike, in his helmet_...

Hiirou couldn't focus on the road. He knew that the other bike was directly behind him but he wasn't concerned with the race anymore. His Hayabasu was important but he was beginning to understand that the stupid mechanic that he'd left on the starting line meant more to him. Wufei, Meiran, Quatre, and the girls meant more to him than his pride, or the money at stake. He took a sharp turn, listening to the humming of his engine and the white noise filtering through his headset.

"Hiirou!"

The shout shocked the living hell out of him. He recognized Duo's voice instantly, and his frantic, desperate tone sent a chill through the boy. He reached up carefully, keeping an eye on the road, and clicked his headset on. "Duo, calm down. What's wrong?"

"You've got to turn around!" The feed was breaking up, and the American's frenzied screaming wasn't making it any easier to understand. "Don't try to jump it, Hiirou!"

The connection severed, and the Japanese youth cursed. What the fuck was that idiot playing at?

"Duo, you have to chill the fuck out, man!"

Chad sighed in exasperation as he ripped his headset away from the youth, swearing. Quatre was glued to his laptop's screen, his GPS tracking the two bikers closely. The American was acting very strangely, and he couldn't understand why. "What's goin' on, Duo?"

"The guy that he's racing right now? You don't remember him, do you?"

The boy's voice was dead. "No," the referee murmured. He kneeled down beside the brunette and frowned. "Should I?"

Duo looked up at him and gave a shaky little laugh. "That guy killed my brother."

0110AMEST03Nov04


	9. Maximum Pulse Chapter Nine

Title: Maximum Pulse  
Author: Switchblade003 Sanyu-Kumiko (Collaboration)  
Chapter: Crash and Burn (Heh heh heh...)  
Status: Completed

* * *

_Fast fast he's gaining on me I've got to speed up got to make the jump what the hell was Duo talking about don't jump it turn around he doesn't make any sense he never makes sense he sounded so worried why what's the significance of him coming over the line to tell me that I'm cold it's windy outside and this helmet's too tight and I want my fucking bike back this Katana's too slow not going fast enough need some more speed how close am I to this damn jump I wonder why Duo didn't want me to take it it had to have been serious I trust him do I I want to trust him he wouldn't lie to me would he I hope not too tight need to go faster that BMW is a lot better than I thought it'd be I wonder who this guy is I've never seen him before secret weapon maybe no he has to be new this course is long where's the jump I hope I'm going fast enough when I get home I'll talk to Duo I need to thank him again there's the damned ditch it's fucking huge holy shit I can't do this I can't do this I have to jump it or I forfeit what if I crash what if I die Duo couldn't handle it I have to stop I have to STOP..._

* * *

"He stopped." 

Chad rushed over to the blonde huddled around the scanners and laptop on the billboard, and Quatre swore loudly. "Why did he just _stop_? Did the GPS malfunction?" The radio tech typed furiously at the keys, pulling up one screen after another in rapid succession, until Chad couldn't follow it anymore, and he turned to Duo. The boy wasn't where he had left him; he was standing on the edge of the narrow platform, squinting out at the desert's horizon. Beside him, Quatre growled in anger and slapped his computer's screen. "It's working fine! I don't understand why he would chicken out like this right before the jump!"

"He didn't chicken out."

Both youths looked up from the GPS monitors to Duo, who was still facing away from them, and the boy was shaking. Chad's gut clenched painfully, and he had the most morbid sense of deja vu. He followed the mechanic's line of vision out into the dark purple of the distance and saw a thin line of smoke rising from the abandoned highway. He looked back at the GPS display, noting that the other racer was on the other side of the break, and he buried his face in his hands. "He crashed."

* * *

"Great job, rookie. I guess you're our new leader, though, so I can't call you an ametuer anymore, huh?" 

Trowa pulled his helmet off, toeing down the kickstand on his bike and dismounting, and he nodded to his new teammates. They were standing by with the van, and they seemed pretty impressed. "Too bad Rice didn't make it," the blonde laughed, nodding in the general direction of the jump. Frowning, Trowa turned and looked over his shoulder at the break in the highway, and his eyes widened. On the other side of the fifteen foot gap in the asphault, the black and white Katana that he'd been racing lay on its side on the street, a twisted wreck of metal and fiberglass, and pinned underneath it was the body of the guy that had been driving it. His blood ran cold in his veins as he stood there, shocked, and the blonde clapped a hand onto his shoulder. "Guess that means that we can keep his bike, after all."

With an angry sigh, Trowa threw the man's hand away and ran towards the downed bike. He struggled up and over the other side of the ditch, and when he got to the pavement on the other side he could hear his new teammates shouting for him to come back. He couldn't. His conscience wouldn't allow him to leave this guy stuck to the tarmac with no way of getting help. He stopped running when he got to the Katana. It was a mangled heap of steel, smoke billowing from the ass-end of it, and he realized that if he didn't move that damned thing off of the other man before the gas tank ignited then there would be no hope of saving him. He grappled with twisted shrapnel and hot fiberglass, broken and jagged glass, until the bike gave a little and he pushed it to one side. The man under it didn't look any better off than his vehicle, though.

His helmet was cracked, which was definately not a good thing, and the left side of his jeans was shredded. His entire left side was lacerated, upon closer inspection. Carefully, Trowa rolled him onto his back, and he pulled the youth's helmet off. There was a considerable amount of blood running down the guy's forehead, into his eyes, and his sweat-matted bangs were caked with the stuff, but he seemed to be breathing, if not shakily. The taller of the two pressed his fingers against the boy's neck, checking for a pulse, and he felt a wave of relief take him when he found one. He sat back on his haunches and studied the youth. When he brushed aside those stubborn brown bangs, he almost laughed.

"Hiirou." 

It had been at least two years since he'd seen this kid. To meet up with him again here...

"Get the fuck away from him!" Trowa had virtually no time to react as he was roughly shoved aside, and he stumbled forward. Someone pushed past him, and when he turned to find out who it had been, he saw a young man kneeling down beside the Japanese boy, long braid trailing behind him. Sometime in the last few minutes a Celica had pulled up behind him, and its driver rushed over towards Hiirou. A blonde and another brunette were hot on his heels, and he recognized one of them. Chad had referreed all of his past races. Right now, the guy seemed more concerned with the racer lying face-up on the highway, however. "What the fuck happened?!"

When the braided youth turned, shouting, Trowa froze. He'd found himself under the scrutiny of those violent, bruise-colored eyes before, and it had been under the worst of circumstances. Suddenly he was standing on this highway almost five years ago, watching this same kid scream over the body of his brother. _I've killed you before_... Trowa shook the thought from his head and took a step back. Recognition flared in Duo's gaze and he jumped to his feet, stalking towards the older boy. Even with his somewhat shorter, more slender build, the youth was intimidating. "You..." Something silver glinted in the headlights of the Celica, and Trowa threw his arms up in defense as the mechanic wielded the blade with a blind fury.

"Duo, no!"

Chad all but tackled the younger boy, twisting his arms behind his back. The switchblade clattered to the pavement, and Duo struggled to get loose. The referee glared at Trowa from over the bucking youth's shoulder. "Get the fuck out of here," he ordered, and the boy nodded dumbly. He stared at the mechanic as he backed away, captivated by the raw pain and malice in his violet eyes. "Go!" On Chad's command, he turned and ran, almost tripping on his way over the ditch, and his teammates took off in the van after him.

"I'm gonna kill 'em!" The American was spouting off death threats and curses as he continued to try to evade Chad's vice grip on him. "Let me go!"

It took a sharp slap across the face to bring Duo around, but the person who finally delivered it was enough to shock the whole team into silence. "Get ahold of yourself, damn it!" Chad blinked, and the mechanic looked up to find a not-so-pleased Quatre Winner standing before him, fists at his sides. His blue eyes promised another hit if the boy chose to continue his ranting. "Your best friend needs to get to the hospital ASAP, so quit this childish bullshit and help Wufei get him into the car!"

The Irishman released his arms, and he rubbed the abused side of his face gingerly as he made his way over to the Japanese youth's prone form. As Duo and Wufei hefted the boy up and into the back seat of the Celica, Chad gave a heavy sigh and rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm gonna have to talk to that damned garage about this. This whole race was bullshit, and it won't happen again."

0837PMEST04Nov04

* * *

He could hear doctors shouting over him, heard Wufei attempting to give some type of description of just what had happened to him, Quatre shouting into his cell phone in some indecipherable language... 

Lights were flashing overhead, and his left side was on fire. He assumed that the guys had taken him to an emergeny room of some type, and through the barrage of noises, the medical terms and concocted explanations, the one thing that he couldn't hear was what he needed the most. _Where's Duo_?

His head was pounding, and he couldn't focus on the sounds of his friends' voices. It was getting harder to keep his eyes open, and when they finally slammed shut, he lost consciousness, again.

* * *

"...Multiple lacerations on his leg are going to require stitches. His left wrist is fractured in two places, and his fingers are all broken. We might have to cast it. He suffered a concussion upon impact, and he about cracked his skull open. If he hadn't been wearing that helmet, God only knows what might have happened. We put a few butterfly stitches in the back to help hold the wound closed. It's just a laceration, though. The good news is that his arm is pretty much okay. The padding in his jacket helped. He's going to have to stay in bed for at least the next two weeks..." 

Wufei nods to the doctor and walks down the hallway a bit, talking. Quatre left hours ago, to attend to business with his company, and Chad went "take care of a few things" earlier, or whatever that's supposed to mean. That leaves me, of course, straddlin' a chair at Hiirou's bedside and waitin' for him to wake the hell up. They pumped him full of so many drugs that I lost count of the IV bags after six, so I guess he'll be out for a while longer. I don't know why, but I just don't like seein' him like this. Maybe its the antiseptic reek of the hospital around us, or maybe it's just the knowledge of exactly what happened tonight, but something's just not sittin' well with me.

I had a gut feelin' that this might happen. I'm not claiming to be a psychic or what have you, but it's all just too convenient. Hiirou on Highway 17, on my bro's Katana, wearing his _helmet_? Too easy. God takes yet another pot-shot at Maxwell. Fine, you win. Just leave Hiirou alone?

I've never really gotten a chance to look at him this closely before. If it weren't for the fact that he'd almost died four hours ago, I'd be greatful. He's really a good-lookin' guy. The piercings are a nice touch, too, I suppose. He's got more metal in him than I really noticed. There's a barbell through the cartlige in his left ear, two through his right eyebrow, a ring through the right corner of his lower lip... When the doctors down in Trauma cut through his shirt, I found out that he has tattoos, too. I didn't get a good look at them, though, what with the blood and all. I hope he wakes up soon; I want to go home.

"Hiirou?" I try pokin' him a little, around the bandages and bruises, but he's out like a light. It's all that asshole's fault! This is what happened to Solo! If I see him again I'll kill him. I can't afford to lose someone else this close to me...

I love him. I realized that a while ago. At first I was angry about it, because he really is a jackass. He's condescending, rude, arrogant, and violent, and I know that I shouldn't care about him as much as I do, but there's just somethin' about this guy... He's charismatic. People are drawn to him, and try as he might to be Mr. Anti-Social, he can't escape that fact. Wufei looks to him for support, Quatre idolizes him, hell even the girls love him. He's a genuinely good person, but for some reason he's afraid of everyone. He won't let himself get close enough to anyone to get hurt.

I'm not sure what happened to him before he wandered into first my garage and then my heart, but he's got some serious trust issues. I guess I do, too, but I learned a long time ago that you can't let one bad experience ruin your relationships with other people. I probably sound a little hypocritical, because I hold that grudge against the BMW for what he did, but that's different! Solo was all that I had for so long, and if it hadn't been for that asshole starting trouble, then I'd still have my brother, today...

Now, I've just got the guys and Hiirou, if he'll stop tryin' to push me away. The nurses are herding people out of the rooms up and down the hall, but I'm not leavin'. They'll have to call the cops on me, first. I want this bastard to know that I stayed with him the whole time he was here. He might not accept my feelings, hell he might even hate me for all that I know, but he's my responsibility, now.

"What are you doin' to me?"

I know that he can't hear me, and I'm almost thankful for it. I'm fairly certain that he can't stand me, and I can't really blame him. I have started a lot of unnecessary trouble recently, but still... I tried to help him. I really did. Maybe I am just a pain in the ass... I reach out and take his good hand in mine, turning it over and scribbling random letters into his palm. If this is the only chance that I get to be close to him, again, I'm gonna take advantage of it. Am I not good enough for him? Does he not trust me? How the hell are we gonna get his damned bike back?

I groan in frustration, letting my head fall to the mattress face-first, and it reeks of antiseptic. And then his hand twitches in mine and I bolt upright. "Hiirou?!"

He recoils at the volume of my voice, wincing visibly. "Yeah, chill out." He raises his injured hand to his forehead, groaning. "I feel like I lost a fight with a freight train."

His voice is raspy, probably from the drugs, and his eyes close again. "You did," I smile, whispering now, watching him carefully. He looks completely drained, and I guess it's no wonder. We sit in silence for a few minutes before he speaks again, sighing around the words.

"I'm sorry about Solo's bike."

Wow, he apologized. Score one for me, I s'pose. He squeezes my hand in his, giving me a sideways glance, and I shrug. I care about that Katana, but I realized that I care about him more. "It's all right. I can always fix that thing." I hesitate before I continue, holding his Prussian gaze, and I feel pretty corny when I finish. "I can't replace you."

Then the damnedest thing happens. Hiirou smiles at me, a pain-laced half-grin, and I have to chalk that one up to the drugs. Either way, it's sure as hell pleasant to look at. "C'mon. Let's go home."

1023PMEST04Nov04

* * *


End file.
